Three Rings for the ElvenKings
by SilverElvenEyes
Summary: What if Legolas, not Frodo, had enherited the One Ring? Would Boromir have servived, or someone else died in his stead? Would the Ring even have gotten to Mordor? More fun and fear in Chapter 14!
1. Chapter One: The One Ring

**DISCLAIMER: **

**Yes, ladies and gentlemen, elves and dwarves, humans and hoppits (er, never mind…inside joke…) I am back. *waves to the five sleeping people in audience* All right, I am only going to say this once. I only own Endara. I do not own any of these characters (except Endara), places, names, etc., I am not making money off of it, and I do not know Tolkien personally. So. With that out of the way, we're off.**

**Series:**

**None.******

**Spoilers:**

**Um, none that I can think of—oh! Only if you haven't read the Fellowship of the Ring, actually, the whole series, but especially the Fellowship of the Ring. **

**One more last note.**** This is not slash, and I really don't write slash in general. Legolas' relation between himself and Endara is merely friendship, nothing more. **

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter One

The One Ring

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            Legolas sighed and closed his eyes. He felt cold and tired, and faintly nauseas. The One Ring hung heavily about his neck, weighing him down. A light touch caught his attention as his friend, Endara, sat down next to him.

            "My lord?" he asked quietly.

            "How far from Rivendell are we, Endara?" Legolas asked wearily. 

            "Not more than a fortnight, according to our maps." 

            Legolas sighed and shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Noticing, Endara unclasped his own cloak and put it around Legolas' shoulders, tucking it in tightly. "Sleep, my lord," the elf said firmly. "You must rest."

            Legolas shook his head. "I cannot sleep. I see it in my dreams, Endara. Taunting me, tempting me—" His silvery-blue eyes turned to his friend. "I just want to get rid of this cursed thing!"

            "I know, I know," Endara answered soothingly. "We will be there soon, my lord. Rest, and let me take the first watch." On the edge of camp, one of the horses nickered, as though in agreement. "The stars are bright tonight," Endara continued, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "No moon, and Earendil's Star is rising." 

            Legolas smiled faintly. "How is it that you always find the things in a situation, and I always find the bad things?"

            "You are royalty, my lord," Endara answered cheerfully. "All royalty are negative. It comes with the job description."

            Legolas laughed slightly. "All right, I will rest." Slowly he lowered himself until he was lying on his back, two cloaks twisted around him. He straightened them patiently; Endara watched him with darkened eyes. After a moment Legolas went motionless, visibly relaxing. Endara smiled slightly, watching the prince drift in the dream-state elves knew as sleep. 

            "Rest well, my prince," he whispered. "Tomorrow is another day, and we must cross the mountains."

*     *     *     *

            Legolas awoke with a start, scrambling for his weapons, thrashing helplessly in the tangle of covers. 

            "My lord, hush! Wake up, wake up, hurry!" Endara placed his lips next to Legolas' ear and whispered fiercely. "The Nine have come, my lord, we must go!" 

            Legolas sat up. The horses were whinnying nervously, pawing the ground. Feeling the Ring under his shirt he cursed it. "We must hurry," Legolas said, struggling up, "if we are to make the pass before they block it off."

            "Come!" Endara dragged his lord to one of the horses. Legolas leapt up lightly, steering the horse back onto the path they'd been following. Endara mounted up swiftly, grimly drawing his bow. "Maybe I can hit the horses," he explained at Legolas' doubtful look.

            There was no time to argue. The creatures of night were silent and long gone, fleeing the evil presence drawing ever closer. The elves leaned low over their horse's necks and urged the mounts on into the night. 

*     *     *     *

            The rocky ride over the path was long and dangerous. Unable to gallop their mounts they had to resort to a fast trot, sometimes having to dismount and walk the horses over particularly treacherous footing. Small landsides were not uncommon, and both elves and their horses were covered in bruises from falling rocks. They had a feeling that the rocks were not falling on them just from random chance, and picked up the pace.

            About an hour before dawn on the second day over the path they reached the crest of the mountain and looked out over the northern lands. Both were silent for a moment, and then Endara began leading the horses slowly down the gorge, Legolas following on foot.  

"I think we have lost them," Endara said later that day, about a little while after sunset, gently rubbing his mount's neck and praising it softly in elvish. The horse's head was low, and his sides heaved from the long ride. Legolas' horse was little better. 

Endara was busy setting up camp. They dare not light a fire, not this far into the Misty Mountains, but there were horses to tend to, food packs to pull out and water sacks to refill. 

"We must rest and take it slow tomorrow. They cannot run all night and day," Legolas murmured. 

"Neither can you," Endara muttered darkly. Louder, "My lord, your life and the burden you carry are far more important than the horses we ride." Even as he spoke one of the horses reared up and it shied sideways, violently throwing Endara away from the dangerous hooves. Endara looked up wincing from the ground, not understanding at first the reason for the violent shy.

Then four Black Riders came out into the clearing. 

"My lord!" Endara cried. He reached for his sword and charged the foremost rider on foot. The shroud parried easily; the starlight disappeared as clouds covered the sky. Endara was thrown back, bleeding, as the Black Riders' rode past him. Stunned, he lay helpless on the ground. 

Legolas stood frozen by his horse, unable to move. "Ride, my lord!" Endara called, struggling to get breath into his stunned lungs. "Ride!"

The foremost Black Rider reached out for him. The elvish horse shied away, pulled free of its rider and made a break for freedom. Legolas stumbled to his feet as the Black Riders advanced, one holding an ominous, pale dagger in one hand, a long sword in the other.  

Endara staggered to his feet, spots hazing before his eyes. "Legolas!" he cried. 

Legolas stumbled over his own feet, his fear getting the best of him. Strangely helpless, he was frozen as the Rider advanced. At the last moment he pulled to one side—and the dagger, rather than plunging through his heart, went through his shoulder.

Endara heard him scream, and it tore at his heart. Staggering forward, one arm dripping blood, he picked up his fallen sword and plunged it into the Rider holding the knife. 

The creature screamed like no animal could and backed away from the elvish weapon. 

Endara thought he heard a voice singing through the haze that was rapidly taking over is mind. At first he thought it was Legolas, but the voice was unfamiliar—and had a distinct Noldorin accent.

_*A__ Elbereth Gilthoniel_

_            silivren penna miriel_

_            o menel aglar elenath!_

            Endara took a breath though the hazy pain from his wounded arm, and began singing along.

            _Na-chaered palan-diriel_

_            o galadhremmin ennorath,_

_            Fanuilos, le linnathon_

            The Black Riders screamed, as if in extreme pain, and their mounts reared up. As Legolas joined in weakly for the last line of the song, the Black Riders fled into the night. 

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

*Song is copyright _The Fellowship of the Ring. I do not own it and am only borrowing it to use in this one chapter. No copyright infringement intended. _

So…what do you think? Melodramatic? Lack of detail/conversation? Bad characters, boring beginning, what? Let me know, please review!


	2. Chapter Two: Glorfindel

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter one.**

**Series:**

**None.**

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**Wow, thanks for all the fast reviews! It made me decide to come and post another chapter. **

**To clarify something someone asked, Legolas and Endara are traveling from Mirkwood to Rivendell, as in the original Lord of the Rings story. Someone else wanted to know how to the hobbits are going to come into this…and unfortunately they're not. As much as I'd like the hobbits to be in this, only Bilbo will be there (as he was living in Rivendell at the time in the book). I'm sorry! :-( I do know this is going to majorly mess up the story line—but this will focus mainly on Legolas and the One Ring, instead of switching between the characters as Tolkien did. **

**Also, I know I didn't explain how or why Legolas got the Ring in the first place, and that shall be explained as soon as we reach Rivendell. **

**Also, if you like this type of writing, look up "Cassia" on Fanfiction.net. She has some absolutely wonderful stories about Legolas and Aragorn, non-slash and non-smut, that are totally awesome and original. **

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Two

Glorfindel

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            "My lord? Can you hear me?" 

            Slowly Legolas opened his eyes; the sky was still cloudy, but it was lightening in the east. Dawn was approaching. The small ring of pine trees that encircled the clearing gave off a sweet, soothing sent to the elf's nose. Blinking slightly in the increased light he looked up into Endara's concerned eyes. 

"Endara?" he murmured. "I thought you were dead—no, that was a dream. What happened? Where am I?" He tried to sit up, but a second elf, one with thick golden hair, pushed him gently back down.

            "Rest, Prince Legolas," the strange elf, with his distinct Noldorin accent, commanded softly. "You are wounded. The Black Riders managed to stab you with a Morgul knife, and the wound is deep. I was out looking for you last night, and I picked up the Rider's trail riding hard this way. I followed them to you, and helped Endara here drive them off. You passed out soon after I arrived. My name is Glorfindel, and I come from Rivendell." 

            Legolas' silvery-blue eyes traveled to the face of his friend, Endara, who watched him anxiously. The elf's right arm was thickly bandaged from wrist to elbow, and held in a sling. "What happened to your arm?" he asked, trying to remember all that had happened. 

            Endara shrugged slightly. "But a scratch, my lord."

            Now that he was awake, Legolas felt the pain of his injured left shoulder more keenly, and he felt cold. Gently the two other elves moved him closer to a blazing fire; he hardly felt the heat from it. His arm ached from pain and cold, and he shivered helplessly. 

            Glorfindel drew Endara aside. "We must get him to Rivendell, and quickly," he said in a low voice. "This wound is beyond my abilities to heal. Also, last night I caught a glimpse of the knife before the blade melted away. The knife was notched—I believe a piece may have remained inside of the wound."

            "We must get it out, then," Endara said, alarmed.

            "We can't—I checked the wound this morning, and it has closed up. If we open it now, Legolas could bleed to death, and I have no skills as a surgeon. No, we must get him to Rivendell as quickly as possible."

            Endara looked over at Legolas lying motionless near to the fire. The only motion he made was a slight trembling from the cold of his wound. Glorfindel gently placed a hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "Do not give up hope, Endara. Your master is strong and young, and if we move quickly he will survive this as well."

            "But what of the Riders?" 

            "They are content to wait and see if your lord falls victim to the blade—all the more reason to hurry. What of your horses?"

            "The Riders scared them off."

            "Your lord must ride my horse, then, and we will run. Come, we must move now." 

*     *     *     *

            Bent over the horse's white neck, Legolas rode silently, in pain. Glorfindel took the lead, setting a fast jog. Endara, his arm still held awkwardly in a sling, took up the rear, trotting beside the horse's flank. 

            All through the day and evening they traveled, with hardly a stop to re-warm Legolas more than once. At last, near midnight and the rising of the moon, Glorfindel gently lifted Legolas to the ground, covered him warmly, and started a fire. Endara sat down next to his lord and took his left hand; the fingers were icy cold, as was the rest of the arm.

            "He's going cold," Endara said to a concerned Glorfindel. The Noldorin elf stared into Legolas' eyes for a long moment. "Is there nothing you can do?"

            "Stay here," the elf ordered. "I will be back soon—keep the fire going, whatever you do. And keep him warm and as comfortable as you can make him." With that, the golden-haired elf stepped out of camp and disappeared into the rocky forest beyond. 

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

Very very short, I know, but I decided to put it up anyway. So…what do you think? Questions, comments, complaints? 


	3. Chapter Three: The Road to Rivendell

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter one.**

**Series:**

**None.******

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: My gosh, all these nice reviews have made me decide to update again! Keep reviewing and I keep writing—I promise, okay? :-) **

**I know, I'm bummed, too, that the hobbits won't be coming along for the ride. :-( Oh well. The humor will come from more bitterness between Gimli and Legolas. Or maybe I'll have Legolas visit the Shire on the way to the Gray Havens. If he doesn't die in Mordor…hey, I never said it'd have a happy ending. *Readers and Legolas fans converge on her, a deadly gleam in their eyes* *Author panics.* Okay, okay, I'll be good! Not. *she mutters, them makes a break for it as the readers chase her off into the distance.***

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Three

The Road to Rivendell

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            "Endara?"

            Endara jerked; he'd been dozing near the fire. The embers had burned down to a warm, red glow. He looked over at Legolas, lying prone and on the other side of the fire. The voice had come from him.

            "My lord?" Endara circled the fire and came to his lord's side, kneeling and peering in his face. 

            "May I have a…" Legolas licked his lips, unable to finish the sentence. 

            "Water?" Endara asked, and Legolas nodded. "Of course, my lord."

            As he grabbed a waterskin, he also threw more wood on the fire. It crackled and gave off heavy smoke. The wind shifted, bringing it towards the two elves. "My apologies, my lord," Endara whispered as he helped Legolas sit up. Legolas flinched as his injured arm shifted. His eyes were dull and glazed, and he seemed not to recognize Endara for a moment. 

            "Come on, now," Endara coxed, holding the waterskin to Legolas' lips. "Drink it down."

            Legolas managed a few sips, and then went limp in Endara's arms. Slowly the elf lowered his lord to the forest floor. The wood caught and blazed, crackling loudly and burning hot. But Legolas continued to shiver long into the night, and Endara stayed close beside him. 

*     *     *     *

            When Glorfindel walked back into the camp several hours later, he found a sword point against his throat. Briefly startled, he then recognized the wielder. 

            "Peace, Endara, I come in friendship."

            The other elf relaxed and lowered the sword. "How is he?" Glorfindel asked as he knelt by Legolas' side.

            "Not good. He seems not to recognize me, and he is very cold. He does not respond to his name anymore."

            "This will help." Glorfindel took out a cooking pot, and filled it with water. A small breeze came up and blew against the fire. As Glorfindel added more branches to the fire it roared up into the night. The water began to bubble. 

            "Should we not try and conceal our tracks?" Endara asked; but even as he spoke a chill came over him and he shivered.

            "The Nine know we are here," Glorfindel answered calmly. "But they dare not attack us yet, not with a fire and the stars bright above." He removed the pot of water, and then took out three strangely shaped leaves from his belt pouch. He threw them into the water and laid it near Legolas' head. The elf prince stirred and sighed. Endara felt suddenly fresh and strong. His eyes shone with renewed hope.

            "Help me remove his shirt." 

            The two elves pulled the over-tunic carefully over Legolas' head, and then unbuttoned the silk shirt underneath. Glorfindel carefully avoided looking at the One Ring lying on the prince's chest from a golden chain. Glorfindel gently bathed the wounded shoulder and arm with the water.

            "_Athelas leaves," he explained as he dipped the cloth back into the water. "It will help to slow the poison."_

            Endara nodded, and held his lord's head between his hands. Legolas stirred and focused his eyes on his friend. 

            "Endara?"

            "Yes, my lord?"

            "How far are we from Rivendell?"

            Endara's eyes flitted to Glorfindel's face. The Elf-Lord was unmoved, concentrating on his work, and did not look up. "Not long, my lord."

            Legolas relaxed back against the ground. The chill in his side and arm lessoned under Glorfindel's trained, gentle hands; but Glorfindel's face was grave as he examined the wound, as if what he found troubled him.

            They let the fire die, and then dumped water on the coals; and when it was sufficiently out and cold enough for Glorfindel, they helped Legolas back onto Asfaloth's back, and rode off into the night. 

*     *     *     *

            The days and nights blended together for Legolas; he barely knew up from down anymore. Endara's voice helped him continue, but he felt so cold that all he wanted to do was just give into the shadows.

            "No, my lord," a soft voice said by his ear. "Not yet. We are so close."

            Glorfindel looked back at Endara, who was softly coxing Legolas on, keeping the prince's mind on something besides his pain.

            Then Endara began to sing. The words and tune were well known in Rivendell, and Glorfindel joined in, the duet bringing onlookers from the forest creatures. 

_I walk a journey cast in shade_

_            Watching hope and daylight fade_

_            Wishing I could find my home_

_            Instead I walk the wilds roam_

_            I watch the moon at end of night_

_            And wish that I could end the fight_

_            Time has not come for me to go_

_            But time can pass so ever slow_

_            I wander dark'ning paths and tread_

_            On places where still walk the dead_

_            And evil creeps its way along_

_            My heart into my voice and song_

_            But still my feet on carry me_

_            To the distant shores of Sea_

_            And 'yond the stormy waves I spy_

_            The golden ships that passed me by_

_            But pass me by they do not do_

_            I now have known I made it through_

_            The paths I wandered where I tread_

_            On through the place of living dead_

_            Above the ocean shines the star_

_            Above the darkness oh so far_

_            Gil-Estel makes its way through night_

_            And brings some hope to us in flight_

_            May darkness never piece my heart_

_            Nor harm to home from which I part_

_            For though the darkness walks beyond this way_

_            Beyond all darkness is light of day_

_            And so singing they came to the Ford of Bruinen. _

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

Yes, we will get to Rivendell soon…but I couldn't rush it. Writer's rule. So, what do you think? Complaints? Comments? Questions? Too short, too long, too boring, not boring enough…just kidding about the last one. :-) Let me know! 


	4. Chapter Four: Valley of Imladris

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter one.**

**Series:**

**None.**

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: So I took forever to get to Rivendell. Oh, what the heck. :-D I promise you this time the chapter won't be so short and we will end up in Rivendell. But remember, Frodo was stuck for seventeen days with that knife shard in his shoulder. Since this will go along closer to the book version than the movie version (since obviously all of the movies haven't come out yet) everything will have to be longer. And so, with that jabber out of the way, on to the next chapter. **

**(And the Black Riders finally show up, too, for those of you who were waiting. If the chase scene is a little short it's because I was short on time and had to type this thing up really, really fast. Hope you don't mind!)**

**PS. If you're squeamish about blood, be careful when reading this chapter. Legolas gets a mini-operation. **

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Four

Valley of Imladris

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            Glorfindel peered across the open land, probably about a mile long, that led to the Ford. "We must move quickly," Glorfindel murmured. "The Nine now know Legolas has not been over-taken by the shard as yet. They will try to block the Ford."

            Even as he spoke he heard the pounding of hooves and turned. His eyes widened. "Legolas!" he shouted, "Ride on, ride on!"

            Asfaloth burst into gallop, the other two elves running swiftly behind. The Rider's horses were as black as the shrouds, and just as deadly. Their eyes glowed red as they pounded after the three elves.

            Three-fourths of the way across the mile flat between the road and the Ford, the Riders began to over-take them. "Don't stop, run!" Glorfindel grabbed Endara, who had been readying to turn and shoot. "Off the road!" The two elves dived for cover; a moment more and the Riders would have run them down.

            Endara looked up and saw to his horror that Legolas had crossed the Ford, and stopped Asfaloth on the other side. Dismayed he watched as his lord swayed in the saddle, the Riders obviously, silently, commanding him to stay. They stopped on one side of the Ford and stared at Legolas, their swords drawn in challenge. Glorfindel grabbed Endara's arm. 

"Kindle fire, quickly!" the elf-lord ordered, pulling brush and twigs from the side of the road and throwing it into a pile. Endara yanked out his flint and began chipping away. A few precious seconds went by, and then the fire began to roar. Glorfindel took out two torches, and handed one to Endara.

Lighting the flames they ran towards the Riders. Endara heard Legolas shout Elbereth's name, and then the foremost Riders began charging across the waters. 

"Hurry!" Glorfindel broke into a full-out run, the flame of his torch whipping back in the wind. Three Riders were in the Ford as the flood came down out of the mountains. The horses still on the bank reared up. Endara shoved his touch against the tail of one horse. Terrified, it leapt forward into the onrushing flood, carrying it's rider along for the ride. Three more horses bolted as well; Endara looked over to see what Glorfindel was doing. He was nearly blinded by the white light that surrounded the elf-lord; the last three riders plunged into the flood, and were washed away.

Panting, Endara stumbled his way across the Ford, spots in his eyes from the light. 

Glorfindel made it to Legolas' side first. The elf-prince was down, lying utterly still on the grass. Asfaloth stood protectively over him, legs braced. Glorfindel knelt down and motioned Endara to hurry. Staggering the elf made it to his lord's side and fell to his knees.

He blinked back tears at the sight; Legolas was utterly cold and ashen; his eyes had gone from silver-blue to black, and he hardly seemed to breathe. 

Suddenly Glorfindel stood up and whistled a bird call. As if appearing by some magic, elves faded from the forest and surrounded the three travelers. 

"We must take him to Lord Elrond, and quickly," Glorfindel said sternly. "Help me carry him."

Endara trailed along beside his lord, watching with deep concern as the elf seemed to withdraw and grow shadowy. Glorfindel noticed, too, and urged the elves on faster. 

Together, the cavalcade of elves descended into what appeared to be a small ravine into the famed valley of Imladris. Endara was briefly mesmerized by the colors that played before his eyes. Even in the palace in Mirkwood there was no such place, so untouched by the hands of man and the changing of time. Waterfalls weaved their way between the buildings set on half-islands, connected by delicate bridges. 

"We are almost there," he whispered, more to himself than Legolas. "Do not give in, we are almost there!"

Lord Elrond was waiting for them, dressed in a dove-gray cotton over-robe, with the sleeves folded up to the elbows. His face was very grave and wise, and his eyes were dark and piercing. 

Endara would not be separated from his lord and insisted on following the elves as they carried Legolas to his room. Elrond spoke briskly and clipped; this was no time for niceties.

"I want three pots of boiling water and the freshest _athelas leaves we have. Also…" Endara phased out the rest and watched as two attendants laid Legolas on the bed and pulled off his boots, shirt, and breeches. Endara helped them redress him in silk breeches; but they left the shirt off, and the Ring was a golden blemish on his chest. Elrond sat carefully on the edge of the bed next to the still elf. Taking Legolas' hand in his own, Elrond bent over Legolas' form. Gently he probed the wound with two fingers; Legolas whimpered in his sleep._

Endara shoved the two attendants to the side and touched his lord's good shoulder. Murmuring softly, he got Legolas to hold still as Lord Elrond examined him.

"You are his companion?" Elrond asked without looking up.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good, he will know you. What is your name?"

"Endara, my lord."

"Lord Elrond?" 

Endara looked up, though Lord Elrond did not, as Glorfindel entered. "Yes, Glorfindel?"

"I thought you might want to see this."

Elrond did look up now, even as the attendants brought in the steaming pots of water and the _athelas leaves. Glorfindel handed him something wrapped in several handkerchiefs. Elrond shivered slightly as he unwound it; it was the hilt of the Morgul blade that had stabbed Legolas._

Elrond studied the hilt for several breathless moments. To Endara's eyes, looking at the hilt was painful, and Lord Elrond held it carefully away from Legolas, as though further contact might harm the elf-prince even more. 

"Have it melted down," Elrond ordered, re-wrapping it and handing it to an attendant. "You say the blade was notched at the tip?" he added to Glorfindel.

"Yes, I am sure of it. It was made so that even if the Rider somehow missed and hit his shoulder or arm instead of his heart, the piece could work inward and…" Glorfindel let his voice trail off.

Annoyed at being kept in the dark, Endara spoke up. "What do you mean, the knife was meant for his heart?"

Elrond turned his gaze on the younger elf; Endara flinched from the keenness of his glance. "Legolas has been stabbed by a Morgul blade; the knives are meant to stay in the wound, and when they strike the heart they would turn him into a wraith, much as the Riders are, accept weaker and under their control."

Endara shuddered. "But I do not understand—what are the Riders?"

Glorfindel spoke in a low voice. "They are the Nine, the Nazgûl, the Ringwraiths, one of Sauron's greatest weapons."

Endara's eyes widened. "The Nine?" he cried in shock.

Legolas groaned and tossed his head side to side. Endara caught his head between his hands and held him still, speaking soothingly. 

Elrond sighed. "It is as feared." He turned to the remaining attendant. "Collect and sterilize the surgical tools," he ordered. The attendant bowed and hurried away. 

"What will you do?" Endara asked uneasily.

"If there is a shard in the wound, it will be working its way inward; if it touches his heart we will loose him for sure. He is already fading."

Endara looked at his dear lord, and saw to his horror that Lord Elrond was right. Legolas' left hand, arm, and shoulder were particularly transparent; and the white light that shone through was laced with black threads. 

"We must re-open the wound, and get the shard out." Elrond's voice was grim as he washed his hands in one pot of boiled water. The attendant returned with the tools and laid them out on the table next to the bed. Elrond nodded his thanks, and then bathed the wounded shoulder and arm with _athelas treated water. Then he carefully picked up a very sharp, delicate knife, and moved next to Legolas' shoulder._

Towels were placed next to and under his shoulder to catch the blood; but because of the cold in his arm he bled very little as Elrond made a careful incision closer to Legolas' heart than the wound. 

"Clamps," he ordered, and the attendant, who had also washed his hands, handed him two clamp-like devices. Legolas was completely unconscious now. Endara gently took his lord's hand in his own, trying not to watch as Elrond pulled the sides of the wound apart with the clamps and began probing with a tweezers-like device. 

Endara bit his lip and Legolas groaned. Elrond bent his head closer to the wound, frowning. An attendant lifted a lantern overhead to give more light. 

Softly Elrond spoke in elvish, "Legolas, _lasto beth nin, tolo dan na ngalad.*" Legolas stirred._

For many precious minutes Elrond hardly seemed to move or breathe as he probed carefully around the nerves and veins in Legolas' shoulder. At last he smiled and sat back. Endara leaned forward and saw a tiny piece of metal covered in blood held in the tips of the tweezers. 

Elrond put the tweezers, clamps, and piece of metal all on a tray. The tray also held the handle of the Morgul knife, wrapped in the handkerchiefs. "Have everything on this tray, and including this tray, melted down," he ordered. "Not a trace of the toxin must remain, understand?"

The attendant bowed respectfully and took the tray away. Elrond turned picked up and threaded a needle, and began stitching the wound closed. As he tied off the last stitch he re-bathed the shoulder with _athelas treated water._

"Now we just have to wait and see," Elrond explained as he stood. His arms were covered in blood up to his elbows, and the towels laid to catch the blood were crimson. Neither he nor Glorfindel seemed alarmed, though, and so Endara managed to relax. "You should get some rest," Elrond added over his shoulder. 

"Your pardon, my lord, but I would just as well like to stay here," Endara answered.  

Elrond opened his mouth to respond, and then stopped as Glorfindel lightly touched the back of Endara's head. The elf's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed back into the golden-haired elf's arms. "Was that really necessary?" he asked as Glorfindel laid the sleeping elf on a cot and covered him warmly. 

"I believe so, my lord. Endara would have died for Legolas, and I would rather not have _two patients near death to treat."_

Elrond raised an eyebrow at that. "Why, Glorfindel, I did not know you, too, were treating the in-coming patients we get."

Glorfindel laughed at the jibe. "I am the field-doctor, my lord," he said straight-faced, earning him a chuckle from Lord Elrond.

"Come, Glorfindel, let us leave these two to rest and recover."

Elrond paused inside the door as Glorfindel slipped past him. "Welcome to Rivendell, Prince Legolas," he murmured, and then closed the door softly behind him.

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

* "Legolas, hear my voice, come back to the light."

All righty, was that long enough for you guys, or do you like longer chapters? Or slightly shorter? Most of the other chapters are three pages on my word processor, and this is five. Is it about right? Also, the next chapter will have the Council of Elrond (minus Frodo and Sam) so if you're getting bored I'll speed it up a bit. I do realize there isn't must description of the rooms in this chapter, but Endara was more concerned about his lord than what the rooms looked like, so I take almost everything from his point of view. Hope you don't mind…enjoy, and please let me know what you think, I always read and consider your comments, complaints, suggestions, etc.


	5. Chapter Five: A Welcome Respite

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter one.**

**Series:**

**None.******

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: All righty. Time for another chapter in the saga of the Ring. BTW, I will make these chapters as long as possible, and thanks for letting me know what you guys think, I always read the reviews—but remember, it is my duty as a writer to make my readers come back—which means some cliff hangers! :-) I hope you don't mind _too much.  _**

**Legolas' She-Elf: I will try not to kill Legolas, I promise, because I like him too. :D Okay, that's an understatement…but I don't have complete control over my stories. My muses, Malsîr and Elrond, have control, too.**

**ELROND MUSE: Die! Die! He must die!**

**MALSÎR: Don't be so damn blood-thirsty. I say, live!**

**So I have to let them argue it out a bit more before I find out. :D **

**Also, I know I was a bad author and took forever to update, but you will have to explain to my teachers that I have better things to do than algebra. They don't listen to me anymore. :-)**

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Five

A Welcome Respite

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            Everything was dim and distant, enjoyably so. He felt warm and pleasantly drowsy, but a hint of an ache touched his left shoulder, as though something excruciatingly painful had happened that lay just beyond his memory. He rested, his eyes slowly un-glazing and focusing on the ceiling above him. He blinked once or twice, long, dark lashes giving him a slightly childish expression. Licking his lips his gaze wandered across the room. Too sunny to be his father's halls…couldn't be some human town, it was much to fancy for that…Lothlórien? No, they'd been across the mountain paths already, and besides, Lothlórien didn't have—

            "Lord Elrond?" Legolas gasped in surprise, sitting up sharply and instantly regretting it. He winced and sucked his breath in pain. Elrond, who had been grinding something in a bowl, looked up and instantly moved to the princes' side, pushing him gently back against the soft covers. 

            "Well, my young prince," Elrond said, his voice low and calming, a twinkle of amusement and concern darkening his sea-gray eyes, "you have given us all quite a scare."

            Sudden memories flooded him—Glorfindel, Endara, the Black Riders, and the Ring, always the Ring—

            Panic gripped him and he fought for control as he reached up to his throat. The chain, weighed by the Ring, was still there, and relieved he leaned his head back against the pillows. Elrond furrowed his brow, concerned that the Ring already had a hold on Legolas.

            Silently the older elf laid a hand on the princes' good shoulder, and Legolas relaxed further, growing weary again.

            "What has happened?" Legolas asked, stifling a yawn. "I remember very little."

            "That is a good thing," Elrond answered, moving back to the table and continuing to grind. "I cannot tell you how concerned we have been; I was not sure you would wake, even after removing the shard."

            "Shard?"

            "A piece of the knife broke off and was lodged in the wound. Do not worry," he added, seeing Legolas' revulsion. "It is gone now, melted down."

            Legolas watched sleepily as Elrond continued to grind whatever was in the shallow bowl for several more minutes. "Where is Endara?" he asked at last.

            "Sleeping. I had to drug him."

            Legolas laughed suddenly, his voice clear and bell-like, lighter and freer, more like the way an elf's voice should sound. Elrond smiled, pleased at his improvement. 

            "Did you now? Somehow I am not surprised."

            Elrond stopped grinding briefly, dripped a few drops of water into the bowl and then continued to press down. "How long have I been here?" Legolas asked, shifting slightly. 

            "A week."

            Legolas sat bolt upright, albeit more carefully. "A week? Are you sure?" He immediately felt foolish for asking such a silly question. Of course Lord Elrond would be sure—he'd treated Legolas, for heavens sake!

            "Six nights, and today is the seventh day."

            Legolas continued watching the Lord work, and finally realized something strange was going on. "My lord, what are you doing?"

            Elrond's lips curved in a smile; his dove-gray robe was cut at the forearms to allow freedom of movement without hindering sleeves. "I am preparing paints."         

            "Paints? For what?"

            "For the local savages." Elrond's voice rang clear with amusement, and his eyes danced with silent laughter. Legolas blushed. "For my palette. I need some blue to add to the clouds."

            "I did not know you were a painter, my lord."

            "I am not. I merely ruin them." This drew another laugh from the bed-ridden elven prince. "I will be frank, young one. I am bored. There are only so much governing Rivendell needs—I am more of a figurehead than anything else. Elves do not need or appreciate much governing. So I am taking up a hobby. Painting sounded like it would take up a lot of time…which is what I am looking for." Another laugh. "Glorfindel has promised to teach me."

            "Glorfindel? Lord _Glorfindel paints?"_

            "You would be surprised what boredom drives an elf-lord to. Desperation. Sword drills. Painting." Legolas laughed lightly, his eyes clear and bright again. Seeing this, Elrond continued. "Erestor sings in his spare time, and Lindir criticizes him and gives him no end to grief. Glorfindel and I paint, your father does wood carvings, did you know? He sent me one for my eight-thousand five hundredth begetting day.* Arwen does archery drills. Elladan and Elrohir kill things. Galadriel makes rope and arrows. Celeborn weaves."

            "Lord Celeborn _weaves?" Legolas' voice was incredulous. "My lord, surely you jest."_

            "Surely I do not." Elrond's eyes positively glowed with pleasure. For a while Legolas fell silent, listening to the music of the waterfalls outside his balcony, and the sweet, soothing sound of elven music. 

            "My lord?"

            "Yes?"

            "Does he really weave?"

            "He made Galadriel's wedding gown. And Celebrían's."

            "You jest!"

            "Ah, the young and doubtful," Elrond laughed. "He has an entire room dedicated to cloth weaving. The irony of it is he continues to tease Galadriel about her choice of always wearing white. He says she should be the Lady of Blue Cloth or something other than the Lady of Lórien."

            "My lord?"

            "Yes, Legolas?"

            "How do you know all of this?"

            "What, what my advisers choose to do in their spare time or the details about Celeborn's thriving weaving business?"

            "Both."

            "I went around asking everyone what I should do in my spare time—which was growing at an exponential rate—and as for Celeborn and Galadriel, they are my in-laws. I know too much about their lives for comfort."

            "From Lady Celebrían?"

            "Yes."

            There was another pause in which Legolas used to roll onto his good side. "My lord?"

            "Yes, Legolas?" Amusement at the younger elf's constant questions wafted in his voice. 

            "What sort of things do the Lord Elladan and Elrohir kill?"

            Elrond broke out laughing; he put down the bowl and backed away from the table so that he wouldn't upset the paints. He came to Legolas' side and put his hand on the elf's brow. Legolas peered up at him through those dark, long lashes. Elrond pulled the dark strands of Legolas' hair away from his eyes. "At first they were so bored it was anything that moved," he said, chuckling, "until Elladan accidentally shot at Glorfindel. He missed, but a large tear where the arrow went through the cloak was blatantly obvious. Glorfindel was inconsolable. He loved that cloak—has had it for years. It was his lucky cloak, and he always wore it when he went outside of Rivendell. I have never seen him so mad. He told the twins if they wished to shoot, to shoot at something that bites back. So they began hunting the local mountain lion populous until they mistook Arwen's prized goat for a mountain lion."

            "They mistook a _goat?" _

            "It was a very big goat."

            "I see."

            "Arwen threw a fit and hurtled a few hard things at her brothers' head. She then took up archery, making her brothers' exceedingly nervous. She was still blistering mad, so they decided to take up the wild patrols again and shoot at orcs. They haven't hit anything important since."

            A twanging sound, followed by a loud crash, followed by a lot of cursing captured the elf-lord's attention.

            "Oh dear," sighed Elrond. "I suppose I jinxed my good luck. Sleep now, young one, and recover your strength. Tomorrow there will be a Council to decide what must be done with the Ring."

            Legolas' face grew troubled. "And what of Gandalf, have you heard from him?"

            "I have had no news of Mithrandir," Elrond answered gravely. "Sleep now." He passed his hand over Legolas' eyes, and the princes' silvery-blue orbs glazed over as he drifted into the dream state elves knew as sleep. 

            "Though I doubt not he is entangled in this," Elrond muttered under his breath as he stood up. "Rest well young prince."

            As he stood to go, Endara stormed into the room. "You drugged me," he accused the elf-lord.

            Elrond smiled a demure smile. "I did, and would do so again. Keep an eye on your lord for a while. I must go see what my son's have destroyed now."

            Endara snorted and sat down to wait.

*     *     *     *

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*I am _not making this up. Elves celebrated the day they were begot, not the day they were born. Information from __Morgoth's__ Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien. _

I know this is short but I figured I'd get it up and get everyone's opinion…so…opinions make the writers write! What do you think?


	6. Chapter Six: The Council and the Dwarf

**DISCLAIMER: **

**New disclaimer.**** I only own Gimshe and Hantor. Sealbeth is, I'm guessing, property of New Line Cinema. Check at the end of this chapter for where I got the info on him. I'm not sure who he belongs too, to tell you the truth. Everyone and everywhere else belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.**

**Series:**

**None.******

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: You guys are so nice to review quickly! I know, I know, I have to write longer chapters…but it'd been so long since I'd posted last I figured you would want to read what I had and comment on it. So. Here are my answers to a few reviewers from chapter five…skip if you want to get straight to the chapter.**

**Arabella**** Thorne: Where did you get that age number from? I've been looking for reliable information about Elrond for YEARS!! If you could, please tell me I'd really appreciate it, so I would have to guess so much. I looked up in the appendixes, but it only talks about the second and third ages, which were both roughly three thousand years long. I figured since he was born pretty much in the middle and/or beginning of the first age he'd be around eight thousand years old. I think I read somewhere that he was nine thousand when he left for the Gray Havens but who knows if that was correct…*shrugs* It's guess work for the elves a lot of the time. Tolkien didn't give them enough lime light *grin.***

**The Mouth of Sauron: I know the twins are your favorite characters, and I didn't mean to make them seem like crazed animal murderers. What I was getting at was my little eco system hypothesis: in and around Rivendell it makes sense that there would be a lot of animals, possibly more than the area could support, because of the protection extended from the elves' power. With so much meat the predators (wolves, bears, mountain lions, etc.) would have plenty to eat, and few would die of starvation. They would also hunt the area to near extinction unless someone hunted them. The twins were merely helping keep both the predator and prey populations manageable. It's been shown that hunters will clear out a place of all prey and then their large numbers will slowly starve to death until the prey population grows again. This was not meant as an insult to those characters, but as something the elves might have had to do. It's also quite possible that I'm wrong, that the elves didn't interfere with the local eco system, but it's just my opinion of what might have happened.**

**FickleFemale****: The elves are speaking Sindarin, so far as I can tell. Sindarin was sort of the equivalent of today's modern English, whilst Quenya, language of the High Elves, was more like Elizabethan English—but harder to translate. "Lasto beth nin tolo dan na ngalad," comes from the movie. I looked it up and it was Sindarin. **

**To Anonymous Reviewer: I'm sorry you feel I've done a crummy job with this story, and that I don't live up to the original, but please keep in mind that I do not have the skill to write as well as Tolkien did, and that indeed few people do. If you are looking for some truly wonderful stories that stick to the book fantastically well, look up "Nemis" and "Cassia" on Fanfiction.net. Both of them have wonderful stories. And what, exactly, didn't you like about it? I'd like to know. If you read this, do send me a review and tell me what you didn't like. **

**Enough talk on my part. On to the story!**

**PS. One last note.**** I decided to do the Council of Elrond similar to the movie, because of the length of the book's version. Hope you don't mind!**

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Six

The Council and the Dwarf

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            "Come now, Endara. He only drugged you once." Legolas' sleepy voice was amused at Endara's pique.

            "No, he did it_ twice."_

            "Once was Glorfindel knocking you out."

            "Yes, and when I woke up Lord Elrond gave me a glass of tea and drugged me!"

            "You needed it, youngling," Elrond commented with extreme dryness as he entered the room. It was later that evening, and after a joyous reunion, Endara was, predictably, impossible to get away from his lord for more than a few moments. "One more day and you would have been dead from exhaustion."

            Endara flushed but had no answer. Legolas chuckled again and rested back against the soft pillows. Elrond bent over him and touched his hand, the left one. "How does it feel?" he asked quietly.

            "Good. There is no pain, but it is stiff."

            Elrond nodded and straightened up. There was a touch of transparent-ness about Legolas, especially the left arm and shoulder, but all it showed was a clean, healthy white glow to eyes that were trained to see. There were no lines of black or sickly green. "You have a visitor," he added with a smile.

            Legolas' eyes widened and Endara jumped to his feet as the old man moved into the room. "Mithrandir!"

            "Yes, it is I," Mithrandir answered wryly, sitting himself down on a chair next to Legolas' bedside. "And you are lucky to be here after all the ridiculous things you have done." Elrond snuck up behind Endara, who was watching the old wizard with rapture, and gently put his hand on the younger elf's head. Endara sighed and his eyes glazed, falling back into Elrond's arms. Legolas laughed lightly. 

            "He will not be pleased," Mithrandir said with amusement to Elrond, who was lifting Endara into his arms as though the elf weighed little more than a young child. 

            "That," the elf-lord replied with finality, "is his problem." And he left the room.   

            Legolas chuckled and closed his eyes briefly. "I'm so glad you came, Mithrandir. I was worried when I could not find you at Mirkwood's northern border."

            Gandalf looked down at the elf, who was to him little more than a child, and nodded gravely. "I am sorry, Legolas, that I could not meet you." Legolas just looked at him. "I was delayed," he added.

            "Delayed?"

            Gandalf closed his eyes briefly in turn and nodded slightly, caught up in some memory. "Yes."

            "Mithrandir?"

            Gandalf opened his eyes and smiled. "I am glad you are well, young prince." He chuckled slightly. "I can remember back when you were just a little elfling, tagging along behind me like a love-sick puppy."

            Legolas laughed and blushed. "You were my only friend who would talk back," Legolas answered. "Because I was the 'Prince' of Mirkwood, the 'Heir' to the throne no one was ever honest with me. I think I would have grown up a brat if not for you."

            "You _think?" Mithrandir retorted, and Legolas laughed. _

            "Rest, young elf," Elrond said sternly, returning. "And _you, Gandalf…do not talk him to death, healer's orders. I am calling a council tomorrow, and he must be rested enough to come."_

            Gandalf chuckled. "Very well, o Lord of Imladris."

            Elrond shot him an ironic look and walked from the room. "Sleep," he said firmly, and closed the door.

            "I suppose that ends the matter." Gandalf sighed and heaved himself up. "Good night, elfling."

            Legolas smiled. "Good night, Mithrandir."

*      *      *     *

            "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction—none can escape it. You will unite or you will fall." Elrond surveyed the grim faces before him. "Bring forth the Ring, Legolas."

            Slowly, Legolas stood and walked across the patio and placed the Ring on the pedestal. He struggled with himself briefly to release the Ring, and when he returned to his seat between Gandalf and Glorfindel his face was ashen. Gandalf shot him a quick look of concern. 

            The Council was muttering darkly, surveying the Ring with eager eyes. "It is a gift," one man said suddenly, standing up.

            Legolas glanced at him, tiny, pearl-like drops of cold sweat beading his forehead, and wondered how man had become so stupid. He had not the breath to respond, though, and instead leaned against the back of his chair, refusing to look at the Ring. 

            "A gift to the foes of Mordor!" he proclaimed, and then went on with a certain air about him that spoke of arrogance. "Why not use the Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay—by the blood of _our people are your lands kept safe!"_

            Legolas saw Aragorn's face twitch in annoyance and hid a smile. Aragorn had always resented the Gondorian attitude that they knew and did everything. 

            "Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy—let us use it against him!"

            "You cannot wield it," Aragorn said in a quiet voice that, nevertheless, filled the clearing. "None of us can," he added as the Gondorian, Boromir by all likely-hood, turned to glare at him. Legolas' lips twitched with irritation. He'd heard of the brave, if rather short-sighed Lord of Gondor. And he did not like his attitude towards Aragorn. 

            "The Ring answers to Sauron alone—it has no other Master."

            "And what," said Boromir, his voice dripping contempt, "would a _Ranger know of this matter?"_

            Anger fizzled in Legolas' chest, warm and certain. He found himself rising to challenge Boromir's words. "This is no mere Ranger," he said loudly, ignoring Aragorn, who was shaking his head at him. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." 

            Boromir looked briefly stunned. "Aragorn?" He turned to look at the Ranger. "_This…is Isildur's Heir?"_

            "And Heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas managed to get in one more jibe before Aragorn caught his eye.

            "Havo dad, Legolas," Aragorn said softly. Legolas sighed and sat down.

            Boromir turned his incredulous and angry glare on Legolas. "Gondor has no king," he declared, and then looked back at Aragorn, his gaze clearly a challenge. "Gondor needs no king."

            There was a brief pause as Boromir sat down, still scowling. "Aragorn is right," Gandalf declared. "We cannot use it."

            Elrond stood again. "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

            "Then what are we waiting for?" a dwarf growled, standing up and grabbing one of his fellows axes. With a roar he hefted it over his head and down onto the Ring. Elrond twitched and nearly jumped to his feet, but there was no time to shout a warning. 

            The ax exploded into ten or fifteen big pieces, shattering like glass. The Ring sat unharmed on the pedestal. Legolas gasped with pain, and squeezed his eyes shut as invisible needles were rammed into his skull. The Eye of Sauron was clear in his mind for an instant, and he flinched. 

            "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess." Elrond was speaking again. "It was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

            Legolas looked up sharply as the Ring whispered something in the Black Language. 

            "One of you must do this."

            There was a long ominous silence, in which no one would look at another in the Council. Legolas studied the Ring through half-lowered lids, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He jumped when Boromir spoke.

            "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever-watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air that you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

            "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Erestor demanded, standing. He looked around the Council, dark hair flying. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

            Scowling, Gimli jumped up. "And I suppose you think _you're the one to do it?"_

            Erestor glared at the dwarf as Boromir stood. "And if we fail, what then?" cried the human. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

            Gimli roared, "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!"

            That did it. The elves sprang up, towering over the dwarves, both sides arguing fiercely. "No one trust an elf!" Gimli shouted. Erestor put his hand out to prevent another elf from grabbing the dwarf. 

            Everyone was arguing now. Aragorn and Gandalf were the last to their feet.

            "Do you not understand? While you bicker amongst yourselves, Sauron's power grows! None can escape it! You'll all be destroyed!" Gandalf cried. 

            Legolas looked over at the Ring, sitting innocently on the table, and frowned. Then his eyes widened as the Ring whispered, "Ash nazg durbatuluk, Ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatuluk, Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"

            The Ring showed the reflection of the Council; even as it spoke the words of the Black Tongue the discord among the races grew. Legolas felt a cold chill as he realized it was the Ring causing the arguments. The reflection of the Council was suddenly encased in fire and Legolas jerked his eyes away from the Ring. 

            He looked around and stood up. "I will take it!" He had to shout above the racket everyone was making. "I will take it!" Gandalf stopped arguing, followed by the rest, and all turned around to stare at the elven-prince. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he finished quietly, "though I do not know the way."

Gandalf smiled slightly and came to stand beside him. "I will help you bear this burden, Son of Thranduil, as long as it is yours to bear." Gandalf briefly laid his hand on the princes' shoulder.

Aragorn walked towards them, a slight smile on his normally grave face. "If by my life or death, if I can protect you, I will. You have my sword." He knelt before Legolas, and then rose to stand beside him. 

Legolas smiled in relief at his old friend, and looked over at Elrond, whom Gandalf had just winked at. While he didn't completely understand the subtle message, he suspected it had something to do with Aragorn becoming King of Gondor.  
            "You have my sword," said the soft-spoken Sealbeth*.

Gimli, the last person Legolas expected to see join, was not to be left out. "And my axe." 

            The expression on Sealbeth's face was priceless, and Legolas saw Aragorn stifle a smile at the irritation between elves and dwarves. 

            Boromir slowly advanced upon Legolas. "You carry the fates of us all, my friend." Legolas caught and held the man's glance, making him cringe. But he continued nevertheless. "If this is truly the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

            "I, too, will come," said another dwarf, Gimli's brother Gimshe. He stood next to his brother, leaning on his ax and eyeing the elves with distrust.

            "You will need a good archer," the Ranger Hantor declared, standing up. "I will travel with you."

            "Doro!*" Legolas looked over in surprise as Endara appeared from behind the bush where he had been hiding. He stood up gracefully, brushed a few bits of dirt from his cloak, and came to stand beside his lord. "I will not be left behind," he said more to Legolas than to the Council.

            Elrond crooked an eyebrow at that. "No, indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." 

            The gentle rebuff made Endara color slightly and Legolas coughed to hide his chuckle, but Elrond's eyes were amused, not angry.

            He looked at them. "Nine companions to match the Nine Nazgûl," he said. "So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

*DISCLAIMER: This character is straight from the movie. I do not pretend to own him. Do not kill me, I do not mean to break any copyright laws. Check out this site: http://groups.msn.com/MrMysteriousElf/sealbeth.msnw for more info about him. 

*Doro!=Stop!

Dumdumdaaaa! So what do you all think? The elves and dwarves are going to be immensely fun to mess with and get them bickering. I do know that this is going to cause a domino effect where everything that happened to Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin while Frodo and Sam were in Mordor is going to be messed up, but I will do my best to keep it as close to the book as possible. So what do you think, hmm? Good, bad, sucks, great, perfect, horrible, couldn't have been worse? Any helpful criticism? Ideas, comments? I always check my reviews about twice a day so let me know! Thank you!


	7. Chapter Seven: The Hall of Fire

**DISCLAIMER: **

**A few lines were taken from the book, just to try and keep it authentic while making it original. Hope you don't mind too much.  No copyright infringement intended. See chapter six for details.**

**Series:**

**None.**

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: Marissa: Sealbeth is a character who was supposedly in the movie. To be lazy and prevent myself from making up a character, I choose his name for my character. Much about Hantor is explained in the latter part of this chapter. Basically he was related to Aragorn and that's why he was at the Council. And as for his archery…you'll see. :-)**

**Estel Kenobi: LOL, I've already decided…but I can't tell you…but you guys can guess! :-D**

**TO EVERYONE: Thank you for taking the time to review and say such nice things about my stuff. It makes my day!**

**And now, on to the show!**

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Seven

The Hall of Fire

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            Legolas sat near the hearth in the Hall of Fire with his head bent, eyes closed and face weary. Across from him sat Gandalf and Elrond, who watched the elf-prince closely. In the corner Sealbeth and Endara sat together, Endara mending his quiver and Sealbeth re-fletching one of his arrows. The two had known each other since childhood, though they had been long apart, and were talking swiftly and softly in the Gray-Elf tongue.* Aragorn was talking with Gimshe and Hantor, and Gimli was sharpening his axe with rhythmic _swish, swish, swish sounds. Boromir sipped a drink and listened to the others talk._

            At last Elrond spoke, his dark gray eyes glimmering in the dusk. "There are things you all must know before you set out," he said in a low voice. "Things I had not wished discussed in front of the other Council members."

            Endara looked up. "Yes, my Lord. I would like to know why Gandalf did not meet us at the appointed area, just past Mirkwood. We waited until the Riders came, and then we could wait no longer."

            Gandalf's face was grave. "That is another, very long story, Endara son of Enthelon. But the story that should be told first is how the Ring came into Prince Legolas' possession."

            Sealbeth frowned. "That is a good question, Gandalf. I have often wondered it myself. How _did you find a Ring of Power, Legolas, and of all Rings this one?"        _

            Legolas opened his eyes slowly, as though wakening from some long, deep sleep. He took a deep breath and raised his head, looking round at his companions. He hesitated and then in the practiced voice of a story-teller began to weave his tale.

*     *     *     *

            It all started about sixty human years ago, when the Battle of the Five Armies caused us to take up arms against the foes of all free folk, _he began._

            _"After wrongfully accusing my father and his companions of being thieves, and imprisoning them in your dungeons!" Gimli snarled.  _

_            "Hush, Gimli," said Gandalf. "That was an unfortunate wrong long set right. Let it pass."_

_            Legolas continued._

_            I was to lead one of the legions, my father the other, my youngest brother the third. __A shadow of pain crossed his face. My brother was killed in the battle, though my father and I remained unharmed. I think I was in shock from my brother's death. I was in a rage—I followed the last of the goblins by myself, a foolish thing to do. I was blind to danger and did not see the orc archer hidden above the rock out-cropping as I ran down a narrow path in search of vengeance. _

            I heard the twang of a bowstring and flung myself to one side. The arrow clipped my shoulder, spinning me around. I stepped back too far and tumbled down a long steep fall. 

            I must have hit my head on the way down, for the next thing I remember I was lying on the ground staring at the eagles wheeling high above. I shook myself out of my daze and rolled over.

            I don't remember much else. I was so stunned I could barely move. I had to be carried back to the Hall of Greenwood. I only remember bits and pieces, the face of my father and once, I thought, the face of my brother.

            But there was another picture in my mind that remained painfully clear. It was night time and I was alone in my room with a bandage over one eye. I stood up from my bed and walked into the hall. I saw a shadow at the end of the corridor and ran towards it, I did not know why. When I reached the corner there was no one there, only a golden band at my feet. I picked it up and pocketed it.

            When I woke the next morning, it was there and I knew it to be no dream. I kept it, though I often wondered why, in the drawer by my bedside. I never touched it again until the day Gandalf told me it was the One Ring. 

*     *     *     *

            Here Gandalf spoke up. "I had long wondered how you managed to find that Ring in the middle of your father's palace, Legolas. I think I understand some of it now. Bilbo gave your father a necklace, did he not? I would not be surprised to find that the ring had hidden in the necklace and fallen off. It obviously wanted an elven bearer."

            "But why an elf?" Gimli grunted.

            "Because unlike most Middle-Earth races, Elves have their own powers to begin with; they do not need a Ring to use what you might call magic." Gandalf's voice was low and grim. "Because of this, any power added to that augments their innate abilities to a daunting level. It is the same with any such creature born with its own power. That is why Sauron can wield the Ring to such destruction. Sauron would be able to wield the bearer of the Ring through it, even possess the body."

            Sealbeth shuddered in revulsion. "But unlike most races, we resist such forces of evil best," he pointed out, shooting a look at Gimli. 

            "I wish that were so," Elrond said sadly. "But often times our own wish for power to use benevolently turns against us. Not surprisingly, dwarves in general resist such powers best—" Gimli and Gimshe shot the elves triumphant looks "—because like the stone they were created from, they resist change. Even so, they have their weaknesses, and it would have been better if the Rings of Power had never been created."

            "And here is where my story comes to play," Gandalf said with a sigh. He took out his pipe and lit it, puffed once or twice and leaned back in his chair.

*     *     *     *

            I was in the area of Orthanc when I received a summons by Saruman. I had, actually, been traveling to see him. Being the head of my order, and I recently discovering that Legolas held a Ring of strange properties, I decided to investigate. Saruman had studied the Rings of Power; if anyone knew a way to discern one Ring from another, it was him.

            When I crossed the threshold I felt a whisper of a chill run down my back and shivered; but passed it off as nothing more than cold autumn air. When I saw Saruman, though, I knew something was amiss. 

            He wore, instead of white, a cloak that shimmered with all hues of color, giving one a headache that looked upon it long. I looked up at him. "Does Saruman the White dress as the Elves of Lothlórien?" I asked in surprise; yet instantly I knew it not true. The elves weave rock and river, forest and meadow and sky into their clothing. All that was woven into this garment was discord and strife. 

            "My dear Gandalf the Gray," he purred without answering. "How fortunate you were able to come quickly. I have urgent news for you."

            "As do I," I said. "I believe I have found a Ring of Power."

            "Truly? Where does this Ring lie?"

            I felt an instant shade of unease. "I am not sure. Somewhere in the north there was a rumor of a golden band that caused invisibility when worn."

            "I make a study of such things," he said, eyes glimmering. "Pray, tell me where you heard these rumors."

            "I could not say," I said carefully, "these rumors have circulated for some time now."

            "I see." His eyes grew cold. "There is indeed a ring of such, Gandalf. Though it is perilous for any but you and me to hear such."

            "Oh?" I said, still uneasy. "What about this Ring?"

            "I believe it is the One Ring, surfacing again. It's heard its Master's call."

            My breath caught. "The One Ring? It cannot be!"

            "Truly it can." His eyes glimmered like black coals. "Now, tell me Gandalf, where is it? We must keep it away from Him."

            "From who?"

            "From Sauron of course."

            "Should not we seek to destroy it?"

            He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Impossible. You'd never get by the border of Mordor."

            "Nonetheless we must try."

            "We will not destroy it!" he shouted, startling me back a step. "It is…precious." 

            "You would not think to use it?" I gasped. "You know what would happen?"

            "We could wield it," he corrected me. He stepped closer, laying a hand on my shoulder. I could feel him trembling with excitement. "And why not?" he whispered. "Why should we not wield it, we from the Undying Lands? We have the power and the skill to wield it—let us use it!"

            "Saruman," I said, stepping back. "You know as well as I that it can only be wielded by one at a time, so do not bother to say 'we'. Using it is folly. We would simply dethrone one Dark Lord and hold a coronation for the next."

            His face was openly hostile now. "Will you aid me?"

            "No."

            "I give you one last, painless chance, Gandalf."

            "No."

            He clapped his hands twice and his servants appeared. "Maybe when the coronation is over, we will have to see what to do with old meddlers with gray beards," he snarled. 

            "Maybe you will be too busy for that," I answered. He laughed, for my words held no threat, and he knew it.

*     *     *     *

            For a long while I was in despair, for I was imprisoned at the top of Orthanc tower. I watched as the beautiful and ancient trees were chopped down by Orcs to burn. Some trees were cut down and left to rot. I knew of no way to warn Legolas in time.

            Luck was with me, though. Gwahir, a lord of the Great Eagles, was about searching for me with a message from Galadriel. He found me at the top of Orthanc tower. "Hail friend!" I called.

            "Hail, Gandalf the Gray!" he answered. "Why do you stand as a prisoner at the top of this tower?"        

            "I have been betrayed. You must take me as swiftly as possible to Rohan. I must get a horse and ride to Mirkwood at once."

            "I will do as you ask of me," Gwahir responded, and let me climb on his back. Before Saruman knew what had been done, we were across the Misty Mountains heading for Rohan. 

            The rest you know. By the time I escaped and came to the forest, you two were gone. I tracked you and the Nazgûl for six days before reaching Rivendell only a few hours after you. 

*     *     *     *

            "And know, it grows late," Gandalf finished. "We leave tomorrow at evenings fall. I suggest you all get some rest."

            Boromir shook himself awake; he'd dozed off. He nodded politely to the others as he left. Endara stood, the quiver mended neatly without even a seam to show where the tear had been. "My lord?" he said to Legolas. Legolas smiled and stood, following slowly from the room, as though in great pain.

            "Is the prince hurt?" Hantor asked.

            "The wound aches," Elrond said simply.

            "It will never fully heal," Gandalf added. "Its burden will remain with him until the end of his life."

            Sealbeth turned to the young human; no more than twenty-eight, Hantor had a bit of a boyish face still with wide brown eyes and a flop of brown hair to mark him as Aragorn's kinsman. He'd studied archery with the Elves of Mirkwood, and could, much to their surprise and dismay, now outshoot his teachers. His archery was bested by none, and was the only reason Aragorn had allowed so young a man to come.

            "You are too young to understand how old wounds ache." The elf spoke a bit haughtily, though the words had not been meant that way. "One day you will know what it is to have an old injury plague you." The elf walked from the room without a second word.

            "He broke his shoulder at a very young age," Aragorn said into the dark silence. "It still plagues him; it's why he had to give up arrows for swords." Hantor nodded but said nothing. Gimli finished with his axe and stood up.

            "I'm off to a sleep," he growled to no one, and tromped off, followed by Gimshe. Aragorn chuckled. "Two of a kind those two…I cannot wait to see the outcome of the campfire 'discussions' between them and Sealbeth. Endara is rather fond of dwarves, surprisingly, and Legolas puts up with them, but Sealbeth cannot stand anything about them."

            "It's a wonder he joined," Hantor joked lightly, and left the room. 

            "Good night, Aragorn." Elrond's voice carried through the room as Aragorn stepped through the door. The Ranger paused and looked back with a slight smile on his face. He bowed his head respectfully. "Good night, Master Elrond, Gandalf."

            "Good night." Gandalf's voice rumbled in his chest like thunder. 

            It was a while before either spoke. Gandalf puffed on his pipe, changing the smoke rings color for his amusement. Elrond read an old script by firelight. At last Elrond spoke.

            "Sealbeth didn't know about Hantor's accident, did he? Or why Hantor choose bow over sword? Or why the elves trained him?"    

            "No," Gandalf said. "He did not."

*     *     *     *

            Hantor was gray in color as he gently massaged his foot. His door was slightly cracked as Sealbeth walked by, and the young ranger let out a low moan. The elf stopped and backtracked, looking in to see if he was all right. Aragorn was helping him pull his foot out of his boot; Hantor's right foot was horribly mangled and twisted. It had been broken and cut, and had healed badly with the toes curled backwards, preventing natural foot movement. He would never be able to take the blows, or move fast enough to avoid them, that were required in sword play.

            The elf thought back to his words about how the human was too know what it was like to have his injuries ache and winced.

            Hantor leaned his head briefly against Aragorn's shoulder and groaned again. Aragorn murmured, "Almost there, just a little longer." He finally stopped massaging the foot and helped Hantor to bed. 

            "It will never heal right, will it?" he asked in a choked tone.

            "No." Aragorn's voice was low and caring. "I'm sorry, cousin."            

            "It wasn't your fault."

            "If I had been there…"

            "If you had been there it would have been you instead; and you were always the better swordsman." His voice was bitter.  
            Aragorn said nothing in reply and Sealbeth left before he could hear more.

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

*Gray Elf tongue is another word for Silvan elvish (different from Sindarin, used more by the elves from Lothlórien. Sindarin would be more popular in Rivendell and Mirkwood, I believe. Correct me if I'm wrong.)

Well?? What do you think? I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I think it was pretty original—it followed the basic plot of the books but it has certain twists coming…:D Tell me if you think I should go wilder and throw caution to the wind and make this less similar to the book…also, what about the tone? Do you like it? Is the story serious enough, close enough to the original type of tone? Do you want more light hearted stuff? (Coming soon, as soon as an elf and a dwarf are seated next to each other, lol.) More grim stuff? More on the characters? Thank you for all your great feedback, I always considering your comments! (Even if you don't like the story I still take it into account.)


	8. Chapter Eight: The Beginning

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter six**

**Series:**

**None.**

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: All right, first off, thank you for those who reviewed and took the time to help me about with my research…I just have a couple of things to mention…**

**I have an idea how old Elrond might be, though I've pretty much given up ever figuring out exactly how old he is, because of the conflicting accounts and difficulty at guess time during the First Age. Because his brother was born 58 years before the end of the first age, and I think I read somewhere that he and his brother were born twins, then he'd be roughly six thousand years old. :-) **

**I feel terribly stupid. I forgot that Green elves were Silvan, and had Nandorin for their language. Sindarin is the elvish for, surprise-surprise, the Sindar—but it is also the daily use language of the elves during the time that I am writing. Quenya was more of an arcane and ancient form of elvish. The analogy I use to show the differences is Sindarin is modern day English and Quenya is Elizabethan English. You can use either, but Sindarin is more understood. **

**Also, check out the Question and Answer section at www.theonering.net. They have several articles about the Sindar and the Silvan elves. **

**If you want to read more about the languages of the elves, check out _The Peoples of Middle-Earth from the library. I read an article in __The Peoples of Middle-Earth that of the elves under Celeborn and Galadriel's rule (since Celeborn himself was a Grey-elf) the majority were Silvan. Same with Thranduil, though perhaps there were more Sindarin in Mirkwood since Thranduil and his son were both Sindarin lords. And while Sindarin was the daily use-language, other languages such as Nandorin and Quenya were also used in Middle-Earth. _**

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Eight

The Beginning

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            Legolas sighed and shifted under the weight of his pack. They had been traveling slightly more than a fortnight, south along the path of the Misty Mountains, the mountains to their left. Gandalf hoped to follow the line of the mountains until they came to an old and rarely used pass that would take them near to Lothlórien and the Anduin River. He did not say why it was rarely used, and no one asked.

            Hantor was, in the elves opinion, disgustingly cheerful. Their opinion of him, however, could also in part be due to the fact that the dwarves had taken a liking to him. Hantor's uncle had been a smith, and the dwarves were enjoying critiquing the way human smith work was done. 

            Aragorn was quiet, staying close to Legolas and Endara, neither of whom said much. Legolas seemed almost perpetually weary, and Endara was obviously concerned about him. However, despite Gandalf's fear that they might be spotted early on, the first few weeks of travel were surprisingly pleasant. It was not as cold as it might be, and during the evening the stars were clear and bright. Sometimes one or two of the elves would sing—usually Endara or Legolas, since Sealbeth was rather quiet and aloof, and wished little to do with the dwarven companions. Since the dwarves didn't like Sealbeth any more than Sealbeth liked them, this wasn't much of a problem.

            Legolas stumbled wearily in the dark; it wasn't that he was tired, or even that it was dark—but the Ring dragged on his neck, weighing him down. _Legolas, it whispered. __Come to me, Legolas…I can give you all you desire…the power can be returned from the hands of Men into the hands of Elves…where it belongs… Legolas shut his mind to the temptation. At first he ran through his linage, tracing it back through his father, and then his mother, as far as he knew; after that he ran every song and chant through his head that he had learned through the long years of his life. But as the days wore on he was running out of poems and songs, things to keep his mind busy as the Ring whispered to him, taunting him. _

            "Let us camp here tonight," Gandalf declared. It was pitch-black; even the stars were gone tonight. The only light came from the crystal in Gandalf's staff.

            Legolas sat down at the edge of camp and shivered. He had been cold an awful lot lately, and he wasn't sure if something was wrong with him or if it was just the Ring.

            _All you could desire…_

            Legolas jerked; he must have dozed off slightly. A fire was burning merrily in the middle of the camp. Thanks to a handful of herbs and wood chips Sealbeth carried, their fire had absolutely no smoke, a blessing for which they were all thankful. A fire meant hot foot and warmth for tired bodies.

            Sealbeth was cooking this evening; the elf wouldn't let either dwarf anywhere near the food storages after their first, disastrous attempt at dinner. Hantor had laughed so hard he'd bent double at the expression on the fussy elf's face, and even Gandalf and Aragorn had been inclined to laugh at the disaster. 

            Aragorn knelt down by the elf, holding a bowl of stew in each hand. "Legolas? Are you awake?"

            Legolas, who had been staring straight ahead without moving, blinked suddenly and smiled. 

            "Can you still not tell when we rest, Aragorn?" he teased. "Raised among elves, and you cannot even tell when one is awake!"

            "Yes, another reason I enjoy my kindred more than yours," Aragorn returned lightly. Legolas laughed out-loud at that, surprising the rest of the Company. Aragorn's smile widened. Legolas had not laughed in too long.

            "Eat. Before Sealbeth has a fit."

            "I am afraid I might be too late."

            Aragorn laughed and sat down next to the elf. Neither spoke as they ate, and while Aragorn went for seconds when it was clear the elves were only going to have one serving each, Legolas put down his bowl and sighed.

            "Gimli, do you know any good tales you might tell?" Hantor asked lightly, licking his lips. He was eyeing the half-filled pot with the hunger only a young man can have. Aragorn noticed and offered him another serving, which he accepted gratefully. 

            "Well, there is the tale of the 'Drunken Dwarf-Maid'," Gimli rumbled. Sealbeth let out a long suffering sigh. 

            "There's also the tale of the 'Aggravating Elf Boy'," snapped his slightly-less-tactful brother. Sealbeth shot him an iron glare. 

            "What about the tale of 'The Elflet's Bow and the Dwarfsies' Bow'?" Hantor said in a sudden burst of inspiration. 

            Everyone stopped talking and stared at him. "The _what?" Aragorn exclaimed, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. _

            Without responding, Hantor began to sing.

            _"There was an elf, a very blond elf_

_            "Who lived with his very blond bow_

_            "Who killed all blonde-elf's foes_

_            "So Blond Elf put it on a shelf_

_            "There was a dwarf, a very brown dwarf_

_            "Who lived with his very dwarf-bow_

_            "He bowed to anyone who asked how_

_            "Why did he live with a bow on a wharf._

_            "So one day the dwarf was away from his wharf_

_            "And ran into the Blond Elf_

_            "Who just wasn't himself_

_            "Because he'd just met a dwarf."_

_            For the life of him, Legolas was amazed at the skill of Hantor. He and the rest of the Company (barring Sealbeth, who refused to be amused) were laughing so hard by now that they could hardly contain themselves. Yet Hantor kept on singing, ignoring the laughter around him._

            _"There was the elf who wasn't himself_

_            "And there was the dwarf who lived on a wharf_

_            "And there was the bow and bow and the elf and the dwarf_

_            "And said the very Blond Elf:_

_            " 'Hey ho! Hey ha! Who are you Bowing Dwarfsie?'_

_            " 'Hey ha! Hey ho! Who are you Elflet's Bow?'_

_            " 'Are those ears just for show?'_

_            " 'Argh! Must you know?'"_

_            "And so the very Blond Elflet's Bow_

_            "And the very brown Dwarfsies' Bow_

_            "Was hidden until just now_

_            "But hey nonny, you know!"_

            Legolas clapped heartedly, smiling. Endara put his fingers to his lips and whistled; a very human gesture, but if the blood rushing to the young Ranger's ears was any indication, the complements were well received.

            "You call that a tale?" Sealbeth asked in disbelief.

            "Oh, come, Sealbeth," Legolas said, his tone holding a hint of warning. "It was a good tale!"

            "I will never be friends with a dwarf," Sealbeth said coldly, and walked out of sight into the distant trees.

            Hantor hesitated, and then took off after him. "Where are you going?" Aragorn asked.   

            "To mend a very blond elf's pride!"

            Gandalf chuckled. "That one will be a good Ranger, when he grows older," he said softly to Aragorn. The Ranger nodded.

            "Yes. I know."

*     *     *     *

            Hantor struggled to keep up with the elf's rapid pace. His foot was beginning to ache and sweat broke out on his face. "Sealbeth, _doro!"_

            "_Avon__! Ego edain!"___

_            "__Tarlanc edhel!"_

            "_Glenna dan edain."_

            "_Teli meldir. Ped an nin."_

            Sealbeth finally stopped and glared at the limping human. His eyes softened, however, when Hantor tripped and nearly fell. The elf caught him with surprising gentleness and eased him to the ground. Hantor was white as paper and a thin sheen of sweat covered his face.

            "You shouldn't be out alone," Hantor said, struggling for breath. "None of us should."    

            Sealbeth stared at him. "I have been taking care of myself longer than you have been alive, human."

            "I have a name, Sealbeth. Hantor. Please use it."

            Sealbeth stood and began to move away again. "Sealbeth."

            The elf stopped and looked back. 

            "May I ask a favor?"__

            "What?" he asked warily.

            "When I am gone, go to my parents and tell them I'm sorry."

            Sealbeth's face held puzzlement. "What are you talking about? Are you so sure you will die on this quest?"

            Hantor smiled gently. "It's not that. I'm dying."

            Sealbeth rocked onto his heels. "_What?"_

            "You heard me."

            "Why do you not ask another to do this?" he demanded. "I hardly know you!"

            "It is my death-wish, Sealbeth," he said steadily. "Please."

            At last Sealbeth nodded, though his face and heart were weary. He started to turn away again, and flinched when Hantor spoke. "You do not befriend humans, do you?"

            "No. Not if I can help it."

            "Why?"

            Sealbeth didn't answer. 

            "Is it because we die so soon?"

            Still he was silent.

            "Or is it because you see us as worthless?"

            Sealbeth turned to stare at Hantor. "Why did you follow me out here, human? Why do you ask me to carry you death-wish?"    

            Hantor was quiet for a moment. "Because I remember you."

            "What?"

            "As a little boy, you came to my farm once. A very long time ago. Do you remember? I was about four years old. You were hurt—you were bleeding on your side. Father and our neighbor carried you in unconscious. But by the time they returned with the healer you'd gone."

            Sealbeth stood amazed. He did indeed remember the little boy who had watched without speaking as he left the house. "What does that have to do with anything?"        

            Hantor stood and limped back towards camp. 

            "Why do you choose me?" Sealbeth cried.

            The only answer was the wind fluttering in the breeze, and the smell of dampness on the air. The leaves shifted by Sealbeth's feet, but the elf did not move or speak until long into the evening.

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*

All of the following words are Sindarin. 

doro=halt, stop!

Avon = I won't

Ego = Be off!

Edain=human, see below

Tarlanc = stubborn, stiff-necked

Edhel = elf.

Glenna = go

Dan = back

Edain = human, Man, but it came to be primarily associated with Men of the Three Houses.

Teli = come

Meldir = male friend

Ped = speak

An = to

Nin = me, my

Any comments? Not much action, but I wanted to get into Hantor's character a little more…I like him. :-) Please note, in the song, the elf has a "bow" in the form of a weapon, and the dwarf has a "bow" in the form of bending over at the waist. I just realized that they're spelled exactly the same. :-)__


	9. Chapter Nine: Journey on Foot

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter six**

**Series:**

**None.******

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: Please don't kill me for taking this long to update. Kill my muse. I have not abandoned this story, but I just couldn't seem to write in it for a while. My muse is in the dog house. It's been slacking off its job. *glares at muse, who is sullenly sitting in a dog house* But here you go, the ninth chapter…thank you for putting up with how slow I can be…I had midterms to study for and you know how that can be. Anyway, to make it up to you, I'm going to post a chapter a week for a couple of weeks until Christmas vacation, whereas I might be able to post more than once a week. Be assured, this is going to be a long story…we're only at the very beginning, and already eight (Nine.)(Be quiet, muse.) chapters! Also, there is no such thing as the Northern Path (or at least, I didn't find any mention of any such thing in the books) so that is my own creation. I figured there probably was more than one way to get across the mountain. So we'll see if our friends can make it there. :D**

**Namarie for now,**

**LadyoftheRings******

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Nine

Journey on Foot

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            Legolas felt surprisingly better the next day, more like his normal self. He could feel Endara's eyes on him all through the evening, and staved off his protests as Legolas offered to cook. Aragorn's face split into a wide grin at the announcement, and Hantor breathed a sigh of relief. Even Gandalf looked happy. It was actually the dwarves turn to cook, but considering what they called "well done" in the meat department, both humans were insufferably glad that an elf was going to cook. 

            "My lord, really, you should be resting," Endara protested as Legolas continued to stir the soup he was making. 

            "Hand me that parsley, please."

            "Yes, my lord." Legolas took a pinch of parsley and sprinkled it into the bubbling liquid, studying the result. Endara continued, "My lord, please, let me cook! You should not be cooking, you're a prince, you ought to be…"

            "Resting, I know. Endara, I am not going to fall over dead, and I am not made of wet parchment. Trust me, hmm?" 

            Endara drew away, looking unhappy and muttering softly to himself. Aragorn came to stand beside Legolas, watching the elf cook.

            "So _that's how you made that funny after-taste," Aragorn said at last. "I always wondered what spice you used."_

            "It is a secret," the elf said with a funny tilt of his head, eyes laughing at the human. "Handed down, from father unto son, son unto child, and finding its way into my expert hands, crafted by the finest cooks in all the lands."

            "I'm so sure." Aragorn's tone was dry. "You should have been a poet, not a prince, Legolas. It suits your calling."

            "You should have been a horseshoe," the elf-prince retorted. "Then we could carry you around for good luck. Here, taste this."

            Obediently, Aragorn bent to taste the food. "Mmmm, not bad. A little more parsley, though."

            In answer Legolas dumped the whole plate of chopped parsley into the boiling caldron. "Not that much!" the ranger protested, staring in horror as the elf surreptitiously stirred the mixture, turning so the Ranger couldn't see what he was doing.

            "Go sit down, Aragorn," the response came. "I've been cooking since before your father's, father's, father's, father's father was born. Trust me."

            "If you poison us, I'll make you eat everything that's left over," Aragorn muttered as he drew away.

            "Fair enough. Sit."

            Aragorn shook his head and hid a smile. It was good to hear his old friend barbing back and forth with him. Legolas had never been able to resist teasing the human about his advanced age, and Aragorn never got tired of calling Legolas an old man. It was one of the best things about being friends with an elf—you were certainly never bored.

            The two dwarves were deep in discussion with Boromir when Aragorn approached them. Gimli noticed him first.

            "Well, Aragorn," the dwarf boomed, showing a certain amount of respect since most dwarves called non-dwarves by their race rather than by name, "are we going to have breakfast or not?"

            "Legolas is cooking," Aragorn answered, perching on a boulder. "We should eat in a few minutes." It was getting dark, and bitterly cold. Hantor, who wasn't feeling well, was hidden under a pile of blankets. Sealbeth and Endara were arguing about something by the fire, speaking rapidly in elvish, and Gandalf was smoking.

            "Bunch of gibberish," Gimshe growled, looking at the elves. "Sound like a magpie, chitchatchitchat."

            Sealbeth swung around and shot a dark glare at the dwarf. "Not that you could ever understand the subtleness of the elven tongue," he said, quite arrogantly. "No dwarf has the wits to understand it."

            Endara placed a restraining hand on Sealbeth's arm and spoke in a low voice. Gimshe was half way across the clearing, his axe fully drawn before Aragorn got between them. Boromir ended up sitting on Gimli.

            "Enough, all of you," Gandalf said sternly as Gimli struggled under the larger man's weight. "You're acting like children. If you want to bring up every slight ever done by both sides, we could still be here when the world ends. Put aside your differences for a common cause."

            The two dwarves and Sealbeth looked like they would rather kill each other first, and_ then unite against a common cause, but with Gandalf and Aragorn between them both sides had to relent. Legolas had been watching from his position by the fire, and continued stirring the food. His eyes narrowed as he took in Sealbeth's dark, angry look. He may not like the dwarves, but he was willing to put up with them. He would have to talk with Sealbeth._

            At last the food was cooked, and though the dwarves would never admit it, it was delicious. Hantor had one serving and when done was looking much less pale, though he still seemed a little wan. 

            "Is he alright?" Legolas asked Aragorn softly. Talking to the ranger kept his mind off the weight of the Ring, and the distraction was welcome. "He only ate one serving. When you were his age you ate so much the elves were sure you were going to burst, but he barely had one helping."

            Aragorn's eyes held no amusement. "I think he is not well," the ranger said quietly, so only the elf could hear. "I will keep an eye on him."

            Legolas felt his spirit lighten slightly as the stars and crescent moon rose, bathing them all in dim silvery light. The elves were particularly cheerful that evening, and even Sealbeth was loosing his perpetual frown. Legolas and Endara talked swiftly in the Grey-tongue, their silvery voices soft but still managing to make themselves heard all throughout the trail. Gandalf led them swiftly, the dwarves behind him, followed by the three elves, Hantor, with Boromir and Aragorn taking up the rear. 

            In the moonlight, the elves looked far more ethereal than by day. Their flowing, dark hair shimmered and their light, lilting voices were smooth-toned and pleasant to hear. They stepped lightly, leaving nary a leaf out of place. Watching them talk, Aragorn could almost imagine himself back in Imladris, as a young boy, standing shyly beside Lord Elrond and listening to the elves talk. 

            "What are you thinking of, Aragorn?" Boromir asked, breaking into his thoughts.

            "I'm thinking of Rivendell," the ranger answered. "The only home I have."

            Boromir nodded slowly. "A strange place to be sure."

            "Strange only to those who have never seen it through a child's eyes," Aragorn answered in a dreamy tone. "It is…it is different. But it also is my home, my family, my friends." The ranger looked at the noble man walking beside him. "It is a hard life, that of a ranger's. We are respected less even than the elves, and liked far less. We are scorned, ridiculed, all by the people we've sworn to protect. The only home any ranger knows is Rivendell, a place where we are treated as equals."

            Boromir considered his words. "I guess I never considered it that way. I always thought the Rangers were just a myth."

            "No more than the elves," Aragorn said,

            "Yes, the elves." Boromir looked up at the three elves as Legolas laughed softly. "What do you make of them, Aragorn? Are they to be trusted?"

            "I have known Legolas and Endara all my life, and Sealbeth just as long," the ranger replied. "Elves are not infallible, but they certainly can be trusted, or most of them. Legolas folk are, by the judgment of the elves in Rivendell, more wild and unpredictable, less wise and less kind, but they are Elves. And that always counts for something."

            Boromir fell silent, and the two humans walked in silence, listening to the elves speak as unfriendly eyes watched them from no so far away. 

*     *     *     *

            "Sealbeth." Legolas summoned the elf to his side, speaking carefully in elvish. The dwarves in front of them obviously didn't like having the elves behind them, but could not drop back without seeming conspicuous. 

            "My lord?" Sealbeth's flat stare was unfriendly. 

            "You need to watch how to speak to the dwarves. I know you do not like them," he added, raising a hand to stave off any protest. "But they are our companions. It does no good to alienate them."

            "I hate them," the elf hissed. "They—"

            "I know why," Legolas answered, a bit sharply. "That is no excuse. I give you an order, Sealbeth. Watch your tongue. If we cannot up hold the laws of decency, we are no better than a dwarf. I do not like them either, but do you really want to have to worry about a dwarf sticking his blade in your back when you are fighting orcs? If we leave them alone, they will do the same to us, or so I hope. I do not want another war to break out between our peoples. Do you?"

            Sealbeth's scowl deepened, but he bowed his head in defeat. "Yes, my lord," he said stiffly.

            "What did Hantor say to you?" Endara asked Sealbeth as Legolas slipped in front of them, finding his way easily down a traitorous ditch full of twisting roots. 

            Sealbeth's anger seemed to melt away, and instead there was a stoic expression on his face. "Nothing," he said tensely. In front of them, Legolas laughed softly at something the wizard had said. Sealbeth sighed. "He wished to request something, is all," the elf muttered. 

            "I see." Endara knew better than to press the irritable elf. 

            Suddenly, a black cloud seemed to fall on the elves. All three of them froze, reaching for their weapons. Endara and Legolas strung their bows and Sealbeth drew his sword. Gandalf too had stopped and was looking about warily. Aragorn realized suddenly why the elves had frozen. All the normal, healthy night sounds of the forest had suddenly vanished. 

            "What is it?" Gimshe grunted.

            "Hush," Legolas breathed. "Orcs are near."

            Endara was the youngest of the elves, with the best night-sight, and it was he and Gandalf, who knew the land best, that led their group swiftly away from the area. Elves have good memories, but even Legolas was getting muddled about where they were going. And he could not navigate by the stars; it was clouding up unexpectedly. 

            It was dawn before they stopped. Even the dwarves were exhausted, leaning on their axes and half-asleep. Aragorn's steps drooped, and Boromir was beginning to regret bringing along his big shield. 

            "We'll stop here," Gandalf said at last, finding a rocky out-cropping that could hide them while they sleep. "Get some sleep. I'll keep first watch."

            The entire Company threw down their belongings and crawled to their sleeping spots. Before long the rhythmic sound of breathing, and, on the dwarves part, snoring, filled the air. Gandalf sat on a rock, looking out over the plain, half-hidden by a brambly bush. Legolas perched beside him, his features wan and weary. Endara slept fitfully, often waking to see his lord standing or pace near him. Sealbeth, too, was awake; the paranoid elf would not so easily sleep in the presence of dwarves, no matter what Gandalf said. 

            "Mithrandir," Legolas said suddenly, turning his head to look at the wizard, "how far to the path?"

            "Another two days of hard marching, at the least. Why do you ask?"

            Legolas face was deeply troubled and he paced. Gandalf frowned. Nervousness was not a common trait among elves. They were often content to wait and see what would happen. "Something is following us," is all the prince would say, and Gandalf, knowing that the elf knew little more than he himself, only nodded. 

            And so began the race to the Northern Pass. 

*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?*?

Don't worry, you don't have to wait long, I'll be posting soon. Unfortunately, it might not be until Saturday evening, because I have tests EVERY DAY this week, and a special class on Saturday. *grimace* Die midterms. Anyway, I WILL start writing the next chapter so you won't have to wait coughtwomonthscough. That was very naughty of me. Santa's put me on the naught list. :D Happy Holidays! Updates coming soon! What'd you think, by the way? Thoughts, comments, jokes, questions, anything? I love to hear 'em all. 


	10. Chapter Ten: The Northern Pass

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter six**

**Series:**

**None.**

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: Hey, I did promise. :D**

**Thank you for all the nice reviews. I know you probably get that a lot, lol, but it's really true. **

**You know, after trying to write this story I've had a lot more respect (even more than usual, lol) for writers who have a lot of main characters. Not only do you have to develop each character, you have to keep them in that character. You also have to be careful not to deviate too far from the books, but enough that people don't feel like they're rereading the books. It's an interesting balance…standing on the edge of a knife…:D **

**By the way, the ****Northern****Pass**** was something I constructed, and is not Tolkien's. As for where it's placed, I figured a few miles up from Moria, but past the Pass of Caradhras, and (by my characters at least) considered safer than either of the other passes, though it was harder to find.**

**//: Means a ****fla****shback.**

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**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

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Chapter Ten

The Northern Pass

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            "Trust an _elf to get us in a mess like this," Gimshe muttered to his brother as they tramped along through the rocky path. _

            "One good thing's come out of this," Gimli responded, hefting himself over a small boulder.

            "What's that, brother?"

            "The elf's a good cook."

            "Humph."

            Behind the group, Legolas and Aragorn walked. Aragorn was pointedly unhappy about the elf not being in the center of the group, and therefore the easiest to protect but he had a feeling Legolas wanted to talk to him alone, and was hardly going to shove him away.

            "Are you afraid, Legolas?" Aragorn asked quietly, listening with a half-smile as the dwarves bickered quietly with Sealbeth. They had been marching for hours after the elves had sensed the orcs presence, and it was nearly dawn. The moon was down and everything was dark. The majority of the Company were quite unhappy about the lack of light—mostly the elves, who disliked starless nights at the best of times. The dwarves, however, were in their element. Used the darkness of underground caverns, it was no surprise that they were walking up with Gandalf while the elves were now hanging back, mostly silent. 

            "Afraid, meldir*?" Legolas murmured thoughtfully. "Afraid of death, do you mean? Afraid our Quest will fail? Or afraid that it will succeed and the power of the elves diminished forever in the Western Lands? Or afraid that I will give in and become the next Dark Lord? Afraid that I will not be able to give it up when the time comes to destroy the Ring, if it comes?" He turned his silvery-blue eyes on the human. If Aragorn had not been used to the elf, he would have flinched at the deepness of his gaze. "I fear them all, Aragorn. I fear them all."

            Aragorn hesitated. For the most part, elves usually did not touch each other. The pats on the back that humans casually gave to each other were almost faux pas among the elven race—expectable between friends and family only, and then only on occasion. Aragorn, however, knew that Legolas was not so much like the High elves with whom he had grown up. The Silvan and Sindarin elves were slightly less noble, less arrogant in ways than the Noldorin elves, though perhaps more suspicious. Gently he placed his hand on the elf's shoulder in comfort, and his friend did not pull away. 

            Without warning Legolas spun and pushed Aragorn to the ground. At first, the Ranger thought it was because of some gaffe he had committed. Then he heard Endara's cry of, _"Yrch!" _

            Gandalf's voice boomed over the sudden hideous scrabbling and shuffling sounds of orcs heading their way. "Follow me, quickly!"

            The Company followed the wizard. Endara and Aragorn pushed Legolas to the front, next to Gandalf, while they held the rear, returning fire whenever an orc's silhouette was seen in the night.

            "Curse this darkness!" Sealbeth growled as he watched the human and elf miss two out of three shots. 

            "Quickly!" Gandalf urged. "We are almost to the pass."

            The elves ran lightly, the dwarves had good night-sight, and both Aragorn and Gandalf knew the area well, but Hantor was struggling to keep up. The younger man was shooting beside Aragorn and Endara, having more luck than either the ranger or the elf, but his breathing heavy, and when Aragorn touched him he could feel the boy shaking.        

            "Stop shooting!" he ordered Hantor, pushing him away. "Sealbeth! Take him!"

            Sealbeth, out of respect for the older Ranger, grabbed Hantor and pulled him along, leading the half-blind human along the path, avoiding the worst of the rocks and ruts. Aragorn and Endara ran to catch the rest of the Company. 

            When they reached the rest of the Company, Gandalf had his hands pressed against the rocky side of a foothill, searching for some opening the others could not see. Aragorn stood guard with Endara, back to back, staring out into the night. Hantor, still shaking slightly but less pale, was kneeling in front of Aragorn, holding his bow and waiting for something to shoot at. Aragorn felt Legolas' warning touch from behind, and Sealbeth's sword sang softly as it left its sheath. 

            "Gandalf?" Aragorn's voice was noticeably tense. 

            "We've got company," one of the dwarves muttered. 

            "Got it," the wizard declared, and pushed on a small knot on one of the rocks. It shifted to one side, revealing a path that disappeared deep into a cave.

            "I hate caves," Endara said, balking. 

            "Endara, get in here," Sealbeth snapped, following Legolas and the dwarves into the cave. Reluctantly Endara followed, taking Hantor's sleeve and leading him in. Aragorn let off two more shots and turned to race into the cave after his friends. Just as he took a step, though, an orc got lucky.

            Hot, tearing pain ripped through his shoulder and chest, throwing him forward with a startled gasp, knocking the wind out of him and making his vision swim strangely. The shaft of the arrow immediately began to burn cruelly and he stumbled forward. Gandalf caught him and showing surprising strength for an old man, picked the Ranger up and carried him into the dark path, the rock closing behind him. 

            Gandalf placed his charge gently on the ground and placed some sort of crystal in the head of his staff. The crystal began to glow, providing them with some light. Enough light to see the seriousness of Aragorn's wounds.

            "Aragorn?" Legolas' face was concerned as he came over, kneeling by the wounded man.

            Aragorn smiled palely at his friend. His hand protectively pressed against the area of the shaft, protruding from the right side of his chest. "Father always said I'd come to a bad end if I didn't eat my carrots," he said, and then coughed wetly. Legolas just looked at his friend, in that way that said, _Humans. Always cracking jokes at the worst of times. _

            "What's wrong?" Sealbeth demanded, stomping over. He stopped when he saw Aragorn's wound. "That's going to have to come out," he said immediately.

            "If we can. Look, the arrow head's built to come off in the wound," Legolas said, pulling away the man's shirt as he and the wizard studied the wound. "We'll have to push it through, but that could cause more damage to him, and we run the risk of hemorrhaging."

            Aragorn's face was growing pale with shock. The elves, all three of whom either were archers or had been, also understood the risk of their art. Even elves sometimes misfired and hit a friend instead of a foe or target, and most learned some sort of healing techniques in case of such accidents.

            Legolas pressed Aragorn down onto his side and lifted his feet up onto a backpack to get the blood back into his head. Aragorn tensed when the shifting caused the arrow shaft to jerk slightly.

            "Careful," Sealbeth said, softening his tone as he knelt down. "It would do us no good if the shaft broke off inside him."

            Boromir, who was watching, was suddenly aware that Hantor was looking just as bad, even worse, than Aragorn. He was sweating heavily and leaning against one wall for support. Just as he moved to help the boy, though, he seemed to recover. Shaking his head slightly Hantor straightened. 

            Aragorn shivered as Gandalf placed a light blanket over him. "You elves are so fussy," he groaned as Sealbeth probed the wound. "You fuss over everyone else's injuries almost as much as you fuss over your own."

            "We have to," Sealbeth replied as his hands pressed lightly on the wound, here and there, causing Aragorn to grit his teeth. "You foolish humans usually end up in the line of fire. We can not have you all die on us, or we would loose our arrow-fetchers."

            "Sealbeth," Legolas scolded, knowing that the elf was only kidding in a Sealbeth-kind-of-way. 

            "We are going to push it through, Aragorn." Gandalf's voice was kind. "Here, take this." The wizard offered Aragorn a glove to bite. Aragorn nodded grimly and took it, placing it between his teeth. He took a deep breath as both Legolas and Endara held him firmly. Gandalf grabbed the shaft of the arrow coming from his back and gave a sudden, sharp push. Aragorn jerked and made a small sound. The arrowhead came free of his skin.

            "Easy," Gandalf murmured, wrapping the arrowhead in a cloth and preparing to jerk it out. "Ready?" he said to the two elves, who nodded. Both held the Ranger down as Aragorn struggled involuntarily, unable to completely stifle his scream of pain. Gandalf wrenched the arrow all the way out and let the bloody thing drop onto the floor. Aragorn lost all remaining color in his face, and then his cheeks flushed bright red, leaning limply against the hands holding him.       

            "Of…all the times—I had to get hurt," he gasped, spitting out the glove. "It—had to be now."

            "Foolish human," Sealbeth muttered again. "Always in the line of fire."

            "Thanks, Sealbeth," Aragorn grunted. "I always did appreciate your concern."

            "You'll live," the elf answered shortly, moving away. 

            Aragorn groaned and considered retorting something that would not have pleased Sealbeth, but was in too much pain to do so. 

            "Take ease, meldir," Legolas murmured as he helped wrap Aragorn's shoulder in thick bandages. 

            "Easy for you to say," he answered, grimacing as blood ran down his arm. "You're not the one speared with an arrow."

            Legolas, with surprising tenderness for such an aloof race, smoothed Aragorn's hair out of his face as he continued to bind the wound. "I," he said with all due gravity, "would have ducked."

            When Aragorn laughed, the others knew he would be all right.

*     *     *     *

            The Northern Pass, in theory, would lead them underneath the mountains, being not so much a pass as an underground cave that stretched underneath the range of the Misty Mountains. There were plenty of underground streams for water and while there was little food to be found, it took no more than three days to cross under the mountains, barring no mishaps.

            In theory.

            In reality, it was cold, damp, dark and miserable, with little fresh water and even less food, bad footing that slowed them up and even deep cracks in the floor that had to be jumped. The elves were thoroughly put out. They did not like caves in the best of times—which this was not—nor dwarves—who were having too much fun for their liking—nor bawdy bar songs—which the dwarves were singing constantly. The dwarves' cracks about "not-so-keen elvish night sight" were not helping. At one point Gandalf rearranged the Company's positions, putting Sealbeth in the rear and the two dwarves up front with everyone else between before something violent happened. Aragorn was fast on the mend, though his arm was in a sling still. Hantor, on the other hand, was looking progressively worse, and while it was not at first noticeable, his lack of appetite and unnatural ashen skin was causing both Gandalf and Aragorn to watch him in concern.

            Legolas alone of the Company was oddly silent. Gandalf had said it was safe to talk in the tunnels, which few even among the Wise knew of, and so talk they did. But Legolas went ahead of the group, away from their talking and singing, walking in memories to take his mind off the growing weight of the Ring. It never let up, even in the depths of his happiest memories, of his mother and little sister, long dead and gone, and of his friends, many killed in battles no one remembered or wars started for no reason and overlooked in the historical articles. The elf's melancholy was not lost on his friends, but neither Aragorn nor Endara dared encroach upon Legolas' reflections.

            Hantor, too, was strangely silent, though from the grayness of his skin it was more from illness than from sad recollections. Aragorn walked beside the younger Ranger, silently offering support. But the young man did not speak to Aragorn about his illness, and no one wished to breach the subject.

            Boromir was deep in discussion with the dwarves over mining. Legolas walked beside Gandalf but his eyes were glazed and his expression vacant. It was obvious he was not completely aware of what was going on around him. Gandalf looked at the elf, knowing there was nothing he could do to help the prince with his struggle with the Ring—for in the end, it was a struggle for his soul, a battle only he could fight. Endara stayed near his master, but never speaking, allowing Legolas his memories and his dreams. 

            "Hantor," Aragorn said at last when it was obvious the younger man was not going to say anything, "I need to know what's wrong with you."

            "Besides my foot?" The bitter irony in the Ranger's voice was clear, and he could not suppress a slight limp.

            Aragorn sighed. "Cousin…"

            "It's nothing, Aragorn."

            "Don't lie, Hantor."

            "It's nothing," the young man repeated wearily, almost not caring. 

            Aragorn looked away, unable to see his cousin and not be reminded of that horrible day almost twelve years ago that his favorite younger cousin was so badly hurt…

            //:_It was a beautiful day, laughter full in the spring air near to the entrance to Rivendell. Aragorn was out riding with his kin, for once joyful and smiling along with the rest of his hunting party. _

_            It happened so fast. Hantor was riding near the front, chuckling, when suddenly a stretch of weakened trail came away. His horse screamed in terror and struggled, but both man and horse went over the cliff. Hantor disappeared without a cry._

_            Horrified, the Rangers, Aragorn included, leapt off their horses and moved back away from the unstable trail, trying to see where Hantor had fallen. He disappeared into the river far below and was swept off downstream._

_            He would __nev__er forget the expression on Hantor's mother's face when he had to tell her what happened. She was twice a widow, all of her seven children dead but Hantor, and the pain on her face was sharper than any arrow. Aragorn had shut himself up in his room for a weak, blaming himself for not sending scouts ahead to check the trail. Nothing his stepbrothers, Elladan and Elrohir, or Lord Elrond himself could do to make him feel any better. Hantor's death was his fault and he knew it. He should have been more careful. There had to be something that he could have done to save his cousin's life._

_            Two years passed. And while the pain of Hantor's death never left him, Aragorn moved on, learning to laugh and talk again. _

_            Until one cold, raining evening, a limping, shadowy figure came to the door at Rivendell. There was a feast, celebrating some visiting elf-lord when the figure came in and asked to see Aragorn. His clothes were tattered and badly patched, he wore only one shoe and his right foot badly twisted and limping heavily. He pushed his limp, dark strands of hair from his face, and raised the bearded chin to look Aragorn in the eye._

_            "Elbereth," Elladan had whispered. "It can't be."_

_            But it was. Hantor, his food badly broken and badly healed, had returned to Rivendell. After being swept far down stream he had come across some kindly farmers, but because of his terrible injury he had not been able to find his way back to Rivendell, nor had he come across anyone willing to take a message for him._

_            Some of Aragorn's saddest memories were staring into his cousin's eyes, young eyes, only eighteen years old, but pain-filled and haunted. Nor would he forget Elrond's words to him: "If I re-break the foot he will __nev__er walk again."_

_            "Then I will walk," Hantor had said firmly. _

_            It had taken all the courage the eighteen-year-old had to walk after that, his foot twisted still despite all of Elrond's advanced care, pain plaguing him with every step. Aragorn could __nev__er forgive himself._

_            Still could not forgive himself._

_            So for the next ten years he spent with the elves in Mirkwood, learning the craft of archery beyond the skill of any other creature in Middle-Earth, save the elves. But no matter how many times Hantor insisted it wasn't Aragorn's fault, he had continued to believe that if he had only watched the tail a bit more closely, instead of getting caught up in the excitement of a successful raid like a child, Hantor would still walk without pain. _

            "Aragorn." Legolas' concerned voice broke into his thoughts.

            He looked over at the prince. "No," he said to the unasked question.

            The two walked in silence.

*     *     *     *

            "We'll settle hear for the night," Gandalf declared when they came to a rather spacious cavern. "We can light a fire in here; the smoke will not be a problem."

            The dwarves immediately went to work starting a fire while Endara took out his cooking utensils. After the few times the dwarves had been allowed to cook, it was generally accepted that they were never to be allowed anywhere near the foodstuff again. 

            Legolas was half-way through his meal when suddenly her jerked and dropped his plate. "Ground quake!" he cried, though he knew instantly there was no time to react. Almost as though his words were a command, the ground began to shake violently. Dust rose and choked them. Desperately, Legolas surged to his feet, grabbed the first had he touched and ran out from under the collapsing roof to the next cavern. The deafening thunder of rock falling from the ceiling chased them. Realizing it was Hantor he was holding, Legolas threw them both to the ground, shielding the human with his body.

            When he opened his eyes, he wondered briefly if he was going to suffocate on the dust. Coughing heavily as the air cleared, he struggled to sit up. The lights were out, of course, and everything was dark as the abyss. 

            "Hantor?" he said, reaching for the human. Warm blood met his fingers. Alarmed, blind, Legolas carefully rolled the unconscious human onto his back, checking for injuries. The blood was coming from Hantor's mouth, so Legolas pulled him upright to prevent him choking. 

            "Legolas?"

            "Sealbeth?"

            "Is anyone else on this side of the fall?"

            "Just us I am afraid, unless they have fallen unconscious."

            "Legolas!" The shout was very faint.

            "We are here!" Sealbeth shouted back. "Hantor, Legolas, and myself!"

            "Are you hurt?"

            Sealbeth looked at Legolas in question, and then realized the elf-prince could not see him. "Legolas? Are you all right?"

            "Yes, but Hantor appears to be injured."

            "We are both unscathed, but Hantor is injured!" Sealbeth said, shouting through the layers of rock.

            "We cannot dig through this for many days." Gandalf's voice came through the rock easily enough. "You will have to go on without us. I don't suppose any food is on your side."

            "I do not believe so."

            "You must get out of the caves then. Follow the path, it does not branch, but wait for us at the entrance if you can. We will follow as quickly as possible."

            Sealbeth shouted back an answer, but Legolas was not listening. He suddenly realized with sharp, painful horror what had caused the young human to fall progressively sicker, and knew that without help he would die soon.

            "Sealbeth," Legolas said to his companion, "we have to get to Lothlórien."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

*Meldir=Male friend

Yrch=orcs


	11. Chapter Eleven: The Road to Lothlorien

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter six**

**Series:**

**None.**

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: The elvish is all Quenya, I got it from one of the very few elvish wordlists that work in the way of an English/Elvish dictionary, making it easier to write songs and such. **

**//: Means a ****fla****shback.**

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

**_Three Rings for the Elven-Kings_**

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Chapter Eleven

The Road to Lothlórien

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

You have not traveled swiftly until you have traveled with two elves.

Light-footed, carrying Hantor over his shoulder and running behind Sealbeth the two elves found their way out of the caves with little light and no guidance, following the edge of the cave wall. It was a day and a little more after they had left their companions that Legolas first spied the beginnings of light. The rising sun nearly blinded the two elves, having been in the darkness for almost three days. Stepping lightly onto a rocky outcropping, the two elves could see far across the world. Stretched out before and to either side of them was the great forest of Mirkwood; once a place of beauty and safety, it now was beset with many dangers. To the south, far in the distance, Legolas saw a dark cloud gathering. The Ring on his chest stirred as though in answer to some summoning, and Legolas shuddered in revulsion. 

"Sealbeth, we are out!" he cried happily, hardly tired and not at all out of breath. Sealbeth followed, now carrying the dead weight of Hantor's failing body.

"Legolas, slow up! We cannot run all the way to Lothlórien," Sealbeth called, setting Hantor down carefully. 

Legolas turned to his companion, suddenly grave. "We must, Sealbeth. For Hantor's sake."

"What do you care for the life of this human?" Sealbeth demanded, impatiently swatting at a few stray hairs in his eyes. "What is he to you?"

"He lives," Legolas said simply. "Is that not enough?"

"To risk the Quest for the life of a weakling human?" Sealbeth scoffed. "Have you lost your head? Think! If the Ring falls now into the hands of the Enemy, no human, nor elf, nor even the ridiculous dwarves would be safe. The world is counting on you, Legolas—do not take every burden onto your shoulders that comes your way."

"I will not let him die," Legolas said flatly.

"Then you are a fool!"

"If we go to Lothlórien, we would be safe there. We could rest, and ask the Lady for guidance."

"It is a long and dangerous journey."

"No more dangerous than taking the Ring through the forest of Mirkwood. We can leave signs for the others to follow—Aragorn will know what to look for."

Sealbeth sighed, suddenly looking very tired. "Do not make me order you, _mellon," Legolas said softly, coming to stand beside him and placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. _

Sealbeth turned slowly to look at his prince, his eyes dark and questioning. "What is he to you, Legolas? What drives you so to save him?"

Legolas had no answer.

*     *     *     *

            Hantor remembered little of the trip. As his heart and lungs labored to work, he realized with sudden clarity that he was going to die. But then again, he had known he was going to die for a very long time. Since the first time he had fallen ill, and Lord Elrond had found the birth defect in him.

_//:"How long will I live?" he had asked, only fifteen at the time._

_Elrond shook his head in answer, his eyes dark with sadness. "I do not know, Hantor. The weakness in your affects your heart and lungs. They will wear out long before their time, and then…" The elf-lords voice trailed off._

_"Then I will suffocate and die," Hantor had said flatly, with no trace of emotion._

_"Hantor…"_

_"So be it. It is my fate."://_

Hantor lay quietly in Legolas' arms as the elves ran, feeling only emptiness inside. 

*     *     *     *

            Sealbeth was hunting for food when Hantor finally woke from his deep, unnatural slumber. Legolas sat quietly beside him, motionless and utterly silent. His long dark hair was held in place with several small, elegant braids. The keen silvery-blue eyes watched the stars above, and Legolas sang softly in his own tongue. _"Bain lalaith linnon __a bain lend, nîn gwathel… nîn__ hûn." __Beautiful laughter, I sing of a beautiful tune, my sister….my heart."_

            "What are you singing about?" Hantor asked groggily, coming out of the deep sleep he had been in.

            Legolas looked down at the human for a moment, and then answered steadily, "My little sister."

            "What is she like?" Hantor asked softly.

            "She had long curly hair, and it used to bounce around her head. She had the most beautiful laugh…I always loved to hear her laugh. As a child, she would dance standing on my toes, and show me the secret place she had where she would store her treasures. It was in a willow tree not far from the palace, a beautiful and ancient tree. She had a doll, a stone I had given here, and a story she was writing, all hidden in an old owl-hole."

            Hantor detected something in Legolas' voice that boded ill of the little girl he spoke so happily of. "What happened to her?"

            Legolas did not look at him, but Hantor thought he saw tears in the ancient elf's eyes. "She died," he said softly. "Long ago. Orcs took her and my mother. We could not rescue them in time…" Legolas let out an unsteady voice. "My sister's tree was cut down by our father, against my wishes. I think the only way he could handle his grief was to forget her, forget them both."

            He turned his bright eyes on the young human. "With longevity comes a terrible price, young human. As the years go by the burden of knowledge, of loss, of sadness experienced repeatedly wearies the soul. We watch our human friends die, we watch our siblings, friends, lovers, parents and companions die, through chance, through blade, through grief. Yet we cannot die naturally as you do, and so the years pile up until the laughter of childhood is long forgotten.

            "'Tis a lonely life and one full of pain, Hantor. Arda Marred, we call Middle-Earth, for the presence of great evil here long ago destroyed the first work of the Valar, destroyed the beauty they had created, and warped it. That is why our powers diminish over the years in this land, why so many of my people seek the Westron Shores…for relief, for peace, for an end. We pay a great price for the life we live, young human, and unbeknownst to you we greatly envy the human race at times, with your gift to die. For though our bodies may perish, our souls remain in the confines of the world until years innumerable have passed. Yet you are free to leave this world and that freedom even the greatest powers, the Valar and the Maiar, envy."

            Hantor struggled to sit up, his heart pounding in his ears. "Look at me," he answered, weariness in his tone, "I'm dying, Legolas, at only twenty-eight years old. You are a thousand times my age yet look no older, perhaps even younger than I look. You never fall ill, you never…" His voice trailed off as he saw the timeless sadness in the elf's eyes.

            "I would trade gladly, young human. Sometimes I wish to die," Legolas said. "I miss my sister and her laughter."

            The two fell silent and did not speak until Sealbeth returned.

*     *     *     *

            Legolas did not rest well that night.

            He insisted he take the first shift, and once Hantor was asleep and Sealbeth was resting, he took to pacing. He had a vague sense of unease, as though something was creeping up on him. Back and forth, he paced, his breath frosting in the cold night air. They had lit no fire, yet Legolas knew instinctively someone, or something, had seen them.

            By midnight, he could take it no longer. Waking Sealbeth and lifting Hantor into his arms, the two elves disappeared into the night, running south, towards Lothlórien. 

            By morning they were certain of their pursuers; a band of orcs, nearly thirty of them, and coming fast. "This is not good," Legolas panted, looking over his shoulder. Running all day and night while carrying an extra burden was easier for elves than for humans, but both Sealbeth and Legolas were beginning to show the strain of constant wariness and many long, sleepless nights. 

            "Really, I had not noticed," Sealbeth snapped, turning and letting loose a few arrows at the foremost of the orcs. 

            "We need to put some distance between us," Legolas said. Hantor had fallen unconscious again, and there was little either elf could do but get him to a healer, and quickly. Legolas handed Hantor to Sealbeth and ran along, shooting over his shoulder to slow the orcs down. The elves natural endurance outpaced that of the orcs, who began to fall behind, but still the orcs doggedly followed, urged on by the cracks of whips.

            Sweat was beginning to form on Legolas' brow as he ran, his feet hardly seeming to touch the ground, running in silence except for the occasional twang of a bow over his shoulder. 

            The elves could cover almost a hundred miles a day, running steadily, and it was two hundred miles from the Northern Pass to the borders of Lothlórien. They had crossed the Sir Ningler River early on the first day down from the Northern Pass—Legolas knew that by the suns setting they would be within a few miles of Lothlórien.

            If they lived that long. 

            Hantor groaned and suddenly seemed to be fighting for air. Legolas touched his face gentle with one hand. Sealbeth shot him a look-where-helping-humans-has-got-us look, which Legolas ignored. 

            "Hold on, young one," Legolas murmured. "We are nearly there."

            As Legolas spoke, the two elves crested a hill, and caught their breath at the sight of Lothlórien's sweeping forest, stretching out far on all sides. 

            Sealbeth looked over his shoulder. "No time to waste, Legolas."

            "Indeed," Legolas said with a sigh, and off the two elve went.

            It was not long before they were passing under the mallorn trees. But to their dismay, the orcs neither halted nor slowed, and neither elf knew exactly where the hidden city of the elves lay. 

            Just as Legolas was beginning to despair of any help, a sharp voice caught his attention. _"Amsí!"_

            He stopped suddenly and looked up. His keen eyes caught the glint of a fierce, elvish face peering down from the trees. Legolas swiftly turned and took Hantor from Sealbeth, allowing the wearying elf to spring up lightly and disappear into the boughs of the tree. Legolas swiftly followed.

            The three elves waited silently as the orcs passed them by, grunting and snapping whips, their smell causing Legolas to gag silently.

            "Legolas, Sealbeth," Legolas said promptly when the orcs were passed, motioning to himself and Sealbeth.

"_Suilad__, Thranduilion," the elf said quietly. _

"_Mae govannen, edhel uin Lothlorien," Legolas answered. "__Yrch aphad men."_

            The elf's eyes held silent questioning. Legolas and Sealbeth exchanged looks.

            "_Lothron__ im pedo an i hiril?" Legolas asked_

            The elf glanced to one side, as though sigling some unseen companion. _"Aphad nin."_

*     *     *     *

            With two elven escorts, Legolas, Sealbeth, and an unconscious Hantor made the journey into Lothlorien swiftly. It was clear that Hantor would not last long without treatment, and as weary as the two elves were becoming neither would slow down the rapid pace they were setting.

It took another day to reach Lothlorien, and by the time they reached the city Legolas was looking nearly as bad as Hantor, the Ring sucking his strength and endurance from his body. The elven healers quickly took Hantor away once Legolas and Hantor reached the elven city. Sealbeth was oddly silent as he walked beside his lord, and his eyes were downcast. If Legolas had not been so preoccupied with his own worries and concerns he would have noticed his companion's melencholy. 

            Their guide took them into the city of the Galadhrim, Caras Galadhon. Legolas looked about him in delight, forgetting briefly his troubles and weariness, looking at the tall and magestic mallorn trees, softly speaking to the elves in their native tongue.

            "The Lord and Lady will see you now," said an elf by the name of Haldir, the one who had found them. "Follow me please."

            The climb to the top of the largest and grandest mallorn tree was a long one. Sealbeth followed Legolas up the steps, and he seemed strangely reluctant, as though there was something he had to do but dreaded doing it. 

            When they reached the top mallorn flet, the Lord and Lady rose to greet them. It struck Legolas how beautiful the Lady was just before he and Sealbeth bowed low, as was called for. 

            Greetings were exchanged and the Lord and Lady led them to a room where a table was set and food awaiting. Neither Galadriel nor Celeborn asked any questions until after the two tired elves had eaten their fill and were sipping their wine. Legolas, who had grown up in a place where wine was valued very highly, automatically began listing the qualities of the wine he was drinking. Not too sweet, obviously aged for some time…

            _:Welcome__, Legolas of Mirkwood.:_

_            Legolas shot a sharp look at the Lady, who spoke softly in her husbands ear. _

            _:Your__ quest is known to us.:_

_            Legolas continued to sip his wine. __:Oh__ fair Lady, I thank you for your assistance.:_

_            :The burden you carry is not an easy one, Child of the Firstborn.:_

_            :I know not what to do.:_

_            :You will find your path, young one. You and your companions are weary, rest now.:_

_            Then the Lady spoke aloud. "You are weary from your travels, both of you. Time to rest, now, and regain your strength."_

            Legolas and Sealbeth rose with the Lord and Lady, and bowed deeply to them. "Thank you, Lady," Legolas said sincerely, and the two took their leave. Just as Legolas was about to decend though, he paused.

            "Lady—if it is allowed, may I see Hantor?"

            "He is sleeping," she answered. "But Haldir will take you to him."

*     *     *     *

            Legolas looked at the still, sleeping form lying in front of him. Hantor was still pale, but his cheeks were beginning to regain their rosy appearance. He looked relaxed, younger. Then, almost as if hearing him though Legolas made no sound, Hantor opened his eyes.

            The talan, or flet they were on was a wide one used by healers for the occiasional stray arrow, but the healers were still quite skilled in more complex matters such as Hantor's defective heart and lungs. Legolas smiled kindly at the human as the young man blinked his eyes wearily.

            "L-golas?" he mumbled, his speech slirred.

            "Hush, go back to sleep," Legolas commanded softly. "I just wished to see that you were all right."

            Hantor was struggling to say something. "You…you saved me," he mumbled. "Thank you…"

            Kneeling, Legolas placed one slender hand against his hot brow and sung quietly an old Quenyan melody used to calm elven-children before bed.

_Quildë__, quildë titta quén_

_Lótessë__ fume tulin sere_

_Serin__, titta quén_

_Sí__ ana fume_

            Hantor's breath deepened and his eyes slipped closed. He was sleeping. As silently as he had come, Legolas slipped from the talan, leaving the human to heal. 

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Amsí = up here

Suilad, Thranduilion = Greetings, Thranduil's son

Mae govannen, edhel uin Lothlorien = Well met, elf of Lothlorien

Yrch aphad men = orcs follow us

Lothron im pedo an i hiril?_=__May I speak to the Lady?_

Aphad nin = follow me

"Quildë, quildë titta quén

Lótessë fume tulin sere

Serin, titta quén

Sí ana fume."

Translated is,

"Hush, hush little one

May sleep come with peace

Rest, little one

Now to sleep."


	12. Chapter 12: No Sign of Them

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter six**

**Series:**

**None.**

**Spoilers:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: Umm…wow…I don't have any excuses…to those of you who used to review this…I'm quite sorry. It's been three years, almost to the day, since I last updated this story. However, I now have more time, a calmer life, and a winter break to work on some of these stories that I wrote so long ago. I'm thinking I may have to rewrite a bunch of this (I'm not terribly pleased with the way everything turned out). **

**However, I am going to try and finish this story, if only because it's the best one (in my opinion) of my stories, and the easiest one to save from how I used to write as a 14-year-old. I'm a little rusty, so this is my warm-up chapter…**

**Anyway, as always, please review, rave, rampage, rip, roar, and most of all, read. **

_**Three Rings for the Elven-Kings**_

Chapter Twelve

No Sign of Them

"Endara."

The Elf firmly ignored Aragorn's soft call. He was bent double under the cave's roof, pulling rocks down from the top of the cave-in to make a breach. To his annoyance, his fingers kept slipping on the rocks, even as he dug fiercely to make an opening large enough for the Company to squeeze through.

"Endara, you should rest." Aragorn sounded tired, but the Ranger was stubborn, and was fighting sleep as he watched the elf toil away. Red coals from their fire gave shadows to the sleeping or half-sleeping figures: Gandalf, Gimli and Gimshe slept on the side of the fire closest to the cave-in. Aragorn and Boromir slept on the further side.

"If I have enough strength to guard while the Company rests, I have enough strength to dig." Endara struggled as his fingers grew more and more slippery with every stone he tossed.

"Endara, you fool, get down here and let some of us get some sleep!" Gandalf snarled suddenly into the darkness. "If one more rock rolls by my pillow, I'll be using you as my mattress-cushion!"

Endara hesitated, and then made his way slowly down the rocky avalanche to the stone floor, where the others were sleeping. _It is unwise to anger a Wizard_, he thought as he descended. Weariness that had nothing to do with his physical state came like a crushing blow, and the elf dropped to his knees next to Aragorn.

The fire had died low, and it was in the dim red light that Aragorn glanced at Endara's hands and studied the bruised flesh. "Your hands are bleeding," he said, fishing around in one of his packs for a bandage. "You should let them heal."

"Sealbeth, Hantor, and Legolas are waiting for us at the cave's entrance. The longer they wait there, the more likely it is they will be discovered. And Hantor was wounded in the cave-in; every moment we stay here is a moment putting my lord and friends in danger." The elf's eyes glittered in the faint light, shinning with the fierce inner fire that so distinguished his kind from all other Middle-Earth races. "I cannot rest until I see them safe."

"I fear for them as well, Endara," Aragorn said, using his good arm to carefully bind the elf's hands in cotton bandages. He finished with expert swiftness and leaned his head down, closing his eyes. "But we all need rest, including yourself. If you cannot bring yourself to rest, at the very least keep the fire going, for those of us who tolerate cold less well than the Fair Folk."

"As you wish," Endara murmured quietly. The sorrow in his voice was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

A rough, gravelly throat cleared itself nearby.

"I couldn't help but overhear," Gimli said, quite gruffly. "But I wouldn't worry about your elf-friends, or the Ranger boy. That Legolas is quite a shot, and Sealbeth is a fierce fighter. You've nothing to be concerned over, elf."

Aragorn witnessed something few mortals had ever beheld: an utterly stunned elf, staring open mouthed at the unmoving form of a dwarf. The expression on Endara's face changed rapidly from surprise, to bewilderment, to a soft smile that relaxed the elf's features. Then his face smoothed over and he stretched out beside Aragorn.

"If the dwarf says it, it must be so," he said into the darkness, a smile in his voice.

"If I hear one more word out of any of you," Gandalf said, his voice muffled by his cloak, "I'll turn all of you into moles, and let you dig me a way out of here."

Comfortable silence fell, and at last the Company all found sleep.

The stony path they'd followed for so far gradually gave way to broken ground, and eventually to dirt, and a few small patches of plant life. The darkness, kept at bay only by Gandalf's staff, gradually lifted: like the progression of dawn, the light was first blue, then gray, then white, and at last they stepped out of the Northern Pass onto soft moss and grass, staring out across an open skyline that sloped downward into a distance shadow of a forest.

"That," said Gandalf, pointing off into the distance, "is the forest of Lothlórien, and our present destination."

Gimshe frowned and bent over the ground. "These tracks are several days old." He straightened suddenly. "How like an elf to go on without the rest of the company."

Before Endara could turn and snarl a reply, Gimli shook his head. "No, brother. See these tracks? These are orc prints." He spat on the ground, as though the word itself left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Aragorn came to Gimli's side. "You are right. Over fifty of them, by my reckoning. Legolas and the others must have fled, unable to wait."

"It is as I feared," Endara said, and leapt lightly into a nearby tree. He climbed swiftly, his head breaching the top of the tree. He let his eyes trail slowly across the mostly-open ground, straining to see into the distance. For the love of Elbereth, from where they stood to the borders of Lothlórien, he saw no sign of their companions.

"Nothing," he said, dropping to the ground. "They must have reached Lothlórien."

No one wanted to bring up the other possibility: that Sealbeth, Legolas, and Hantor were dead or captured, and the Ring was in the hands of the Enemy.

"We never should have let them go on without us," Endara groaned, his fair face twisted in pain.

"They had no food or supplies," Boromir said. "They could not have survived."

"Elves are not like mortals," Endara snapped, rounding on the human. "_We_ can survive without food or water, unlike you mortals. And if you, Mithrandir, hadn't insisted they go on, alone, with the Weapon of the Enemy no less—"

"Hush!" Gandalf said, silencing the elf with a look. "What is done is done. The important thing now is to find our companions. Endara, did you truly believe that we would all follow Legolas into the very fires of Mount Doom, down the long road to Mordor? Did you never consider that Legolas may wish to leave us behind, out of concern for our own safety?"

Endara fell silent, his eyes still flashing with anger. Gandalf continued. "Those who bear Rings of Power do so utterly and truly alone. No one can help Legolas bear his burden. And while we can stand at his back, and defend him from orcs, and other allies of the Enemy, this quest is his alone. The time will come when you will have to let Legolas complete his task, unaided."

"That time may come," Endara said, tightly. "But it has not come yet."

"We waste time arguing," Gimshe said. "We should be off."

"We have no supplies," Boromir protested. "Some of us need food."

Gandalf fished in his pouch and pulled out several leaf-wrapped packages. "You may recognize these," he said, smiling at Aragorn's wide-eyed expression. "They're a year or two old, but still perfectly good."

Gimli and Gimshe sniffed their packets with suspicious. Aragorn and Endara ate swiftly, while Gandalf handed the last package to Boromir.

"What is this?" the Gondorian asked in surprise after his first bite.

"Lembas bread," Aragorn said, swallowing his last bite. "A few bites will keep a man's stomach full for a long day's march. The elves of Lórien make them."

"Can you run, Gandalf, or will one of us carry you?" Endara enquired of the Wizard, a little stiffly.

Gandalf scowled, his bushy eyebrows coming together over his forehead. "Elf, I was running these woods long before your great-great grandfather was weaned off his mother's milk. I assure you, I can keep up."

And so, with Endara and Aragorn in the front, Gandalf and Boromir behind them, and the two dwarves taking up the rear, the Company set out on the long road south and west towards Lothlórien.

**And the saga continues….**


	13. Chapter 13: Rain Upon the Mallorn Trees

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter six**

**SERIES:**

**None.**

**SPOILERS:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: Hum dee dum…if anyone knows how to make asterisks appear when I upload documents, I would greatly appreciate someone mentioning it in a review. You know, the little star thingies above the number 8 on a keyboard. The ones we writer's use when we want to denote the passing of time in a story (or, as I affectionately refer to them "the little dotdotdots that mean time is passing"). USED to upload them with a document, but now I can't get them to work. Which is frustrating. So if anyone knows how, do review and let me know. Much appreciated!**

_**Three Rings for the Elven-Kings**_

Chapter Thirteen

Rain Upon the _Mallorn_ Trees

Legolas was enjoying his first restful night in many weeks. The burden of the Ring, which still hung heavily about his pale throat, was somewhat lightened. Three days after their arrival, the sky darkened as clouds covered the sky. As nightfall approached and most of the Lórien elves took shelter in their _talans_, Legolas made it a point to climb to the top of a nearby _mallorn_ tree just to feel the drops roll across his skin. The stars were hidden from sight, and the night was almost crushingly dark. Normally this would have bothered Legolas; he was, after all, an elf, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than standing under the stars and singing. Tonight, however, the steady rain washed away his troubled thoughts, bringing some comfort to a mind weary from resisting the Ring's temptations. Leaning his back against the high, thin branches, Legolas closed his eyes, feeling calm settle into his skin as the water settled into his clothes, and swayed gently with the light wind.

"What are you doing up here?" Sealbeth's voice, somewhat irritated, shattered Legolas' reverie. "You're soaked."

" 'Tis a warm night," Legolas murmured, without opening his eyes. "This rain is good for the forest. The streams continue to run, and life will grow."

"And it will cover our tracks from the Northern Pass."

"Yes, that as well."

"Meaning our enemies will have trouble following us. Assuming, of course, they are unaware of to where we have escaped."

Legolas opened his eyes, and turned towards Sealbeth's voice. In the darkness of the cloudy night, even his sharp elven eyes had difficulty perceiving Sealbeth's expression. What he did note, however, was that the other elf was worried.

"Sealbeth, come, speak to me of what troubles you." Legolas shifted his position, letting one leg drape over the edge of his branch.

Sealbeth sat silently for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that sound of falling rain on _mallorn _leaves seemed to all but drown him out. "Legolas, we cannot linger. I spoke with Haldir today, and the forest is all but besieged. If we do not leave soon, we may not be able to escape Lothlórien, and it may be here that the battle to save Middle Earth is lost. We cannot wait for the others to catch up with us. Humans and dwarves are not as swift of foot as we, and even running light of foot as we did, it took us nearly two days to reach Lothlórien. It has now been nigh on three nights since we arrived; five days since we parted company with our companions. If the Enemy did not already know we were here, He certainly does now. I fear that at best we will bring about the destruction of Lothlórien, if we stay. At worse, the Weapon will return to its master." He leaned forward, his naturally dark eyes nearly black with worry. "If we remain, we risk destroying the last elven haven east of the Misty Mountains, and the last hope of Middle-Earth."

Legolas sighed. "Hantor is still too ill."

"Hantor was too ill to join this quest in the first place; I am surprised that Lord Elrond allowed him to accompany us. And if Lord Elrond was too polite to say something, then Aragorn should have." Sealbeth blew out his breath in frustration. "Legolas, we cannot stay."

"I know, Sealbeth. But we also cannot leave the others behind; we promised we'd wait at the end of the Pass. Do to Hantor and the orcs, we could not tarry. Now, however, we are safe, if but for a few days. I will not leave my friends behind again. Not Mithrandir, not Aragorn, and certainly not Endara."

"They are safer without us." Legolas said nothing. "Did you never consider how likely it is that we will die in this journey? Do you so desperately want your friends by your side that you would risk their death simply for your comfort?"

Legolas' voice slashed through the cool air. "Do not belittle me, Sealbeth. I have spent much of the journey thinking about just that."

"Then you must understand me when I say, as your friend and fellow elf, we can travel faster and farther alone than if we stay with the company. We can accomplish this on our own. And if we die in the process, our friends will not perish with us."

Troubled, Legolas replied, "If we fail, they will die anyway. This fate is not just of the elves, Sealbeth. It belongs to all Middle-Earth. Should not all of Middle-Earth represent those who would destroy this evil?"

Sealbeth never got a chance to reply. At that moment, both elves tensed as a head popped up between the leaves.

"The Lady wishes to speak with you," said the elf.

_**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**_

Legolas desperately wished he had had time to change out of his drenched clothes. As much as he wished to appear as the Ring Bearer, a Sindarin Prince, heir to the Kingdom of Greenwood, and representative of the Free People of Middle-Earth, all he could think about was his dark hair hanging limp over his shoulders, and the tiny rivulets of water that were running over his ears. Sealbeth, somehow, had managed to stay mostly dry; aside from some dampness to his clothes, the weather seemed to have left him alone. Legolas, on the other hand, was sodden and dripping in the presence of two of the oldest and most powerful elves remaining in Middle-Earth.

While her face remained impassive, Galadriel's eyes smiled at him; but there was no humor in her voice when she spoke.

"As I know Haldir has told you, Lothlórien has been under attack for several hours now; many of our people have flocked to our northern border to hold back the orcs. Scouts have seen yet more orcs marching towards our southern border, to cut off your escape. You are elves, and as such are always welcome to the forests of Lothlórien. Yet, for the sake of your journey and quest, I believe it would be wise for you to leave before the southern reinforcements reach our forests."

"Lady." Legolas met Galadriel's gaze firmly, though it took no small effort to stare into those blue eyes. "What of the Company?"

"You cannot wait, Legolas," she said, gravely. "If your quest has any chance of success, your friends will have to catch up with you; you cannot tarry any longer. And I know, by the skill of my art, that they are less than a day behind. If you leave now, they may well catch up with you once you are beyond the borders of Lothlórien."

"I am sorry, my Lady," Legolas said, quietly.

Galadriel approached them, and lay a cool hand across Legolas' cheek. _Son of Thranduil, you of all creatures, have nothing to be sorry for._

_Many will die because of my coming here._

Galadriel released her touch. _Many would have died had you not._

"If you are dedicated to this quest, you must leave tonight," she continued aloud. "Our wardens will supply you with food for your journey, and cloaks that will help keep you from the sight of evil creatures."

"Thank you, my lady," both elves murmured, and bowed.

"Farewell, Legolas son of Thranduil." Galadriel raised her hand, and for a moment Legolas caught sight of a ring upon her finger. "The blessings of all go with you."

Legolas found he could not speak; he bowed once, and turned away, following Haldir into the silent, dark, rainy night.

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**I think I'm as excited as anyone to see how this is going to turn out…comments? Suggestions? Anything you'd wish I'd put in/leave out? We'll return to the rest of the Company in Chapter 14… **


	14. Chapter 14: Gwannuvalmet

**DISCLAIMER: **

**See chapter six**

**SERIES:**

**None.**

**SPOILERS:**

**See chapter one**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! **

**Persiangoddess: Groan I noticed the misspelling on Gwaihir's name, too. I just haven't been able to fix it yet (this stuff was written so long ago, a lot of the chapter files have been deleted). And the bush thing is also true (my younger, foolish writing self was basing that scene ENTIRELY off the movie, with just the names changed, which really ticks me off now. Of all the chapters I'm going to go back and rewrite, that chapter of the council of Elrond will be the FIRST to get fixed). **

**Thanks for reading, you guys! (_Despite_ the fact that chapters 1-11 were written when I was fourteen, and now that I'm eighteen I've decided to finish.) Chapters 12 on will (hopefully) be better written. And I will go back and fix a lot of the mistakes and rearrange some character appearances. I promise! **

**: Means a flashback.**

_**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**_

_**Three Rings for the Elven-Kings**_

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**Chapter Fourteen**

**Gwannuvalmet**

It was the fifth day since Endara, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli and Gimshe had set out from the Northern Pass, towards Lothlórien.

"The cold, I can stand," grumbled Gimli.

The Company moved wearily, each caught up in his own concerns, removing himself from the discomfort and fears of their journey by allowing their minds to return to a place each cherished.

"The rough ground, I'll survive," Gimli continued.

Everyone was exhausted. While the journey to Lothlórien had looked flat enough from the foothills, it was actually a grueling trek that required hiking up and down several small hills over a period of nearly two hundred miles, until the ground finally sloped to near-flat as it approached the forest. None of the Company, excluding, perhaps, Endara, had taken well to their hurried journey. They were short on supplies, and with little time to hunt and Gandalf's supply of _lembas _depleted, the rumble of empty stomachs seemed to echo in the silent, early morning.

"Even the mother-cursed black-hearted ill-fate that's plagued us couldn't get me down."

Aragorn sighed. He knew that the Company had no chance of catching the two elves and Hantor, if they left before the rest of the Company reached Lothlórien. Elves were not only swifter on foot than humans, but they did not feel weariness, or cold, and could go without food for extended periods of time. Even if Hantor was ill, he was still of Numenorian blood. Legolas could be half-way to Mordor before the rest of the Company was even through Lothlórien.

"You see, what bothers me is this _DURIN CURSED RAIN!_" Gimli bellowed.

Gandalf's disapproving look was somewhat hampered in its ability to bring about quivers of fear, do to the small lake of water that had formed in the curve of Gandalf's hat, and now splashed out as the Wizard turned. "I think we, along with the southern half of Middle-Earth, get the point, Gimli."

As if the weather had heard Gimli's complaint, and taken it personally, the rain began to pound harder. Endara walked in the front, ignoring the idle talk behind him. Aragorn and Boromir were talking quietly behind the group, and the two dwarf brothers were (aside from Gimli's outburst) stoically silent. Gandalf walked along swiftly, his focus elsewhere, leaving Endara to his thoughts.

**:"Legolas, wait for me!"**

**Legolas paused, his slender four-foot-high body moving confidently through the dark forest.**

**"Hurry up, Endara, you're always so slow," the prince complained, and resumed his run.**

**Endara panted heavily; his dark hair matted against his face. Trembling, cold hands brushed sweat out of his eyes as he fought to keep up with his friend.**

**"Legolas, you're too fast for me! Legolas?" :**

"Endara?"

Endara felt Mithrandir's touch on his shoulder and looked up into the eyes of the Wizard. _Eyes_, thought the elf, _which are older than the oldest elf in Middle-Earth_. Eyes that flashed with fury when evil abounded; eyes that shone with pity at the lowliest creature; and eyes that now burned with understanding, a feeling of empathy so deep that Endara felt as though Gandalf the Gray could read his soul.

"We will find them." There was a promise in Gandalf's voice that cleared Endara's heart. The elf breathed out softly, and Gandalf continued at his brisk walk.

"Ahem. Tired already, elf?"

Amused when he otherwise would have been annoyed, Endara turned and replied tartly, "No more tired than you are tall, dwarf."

Gimli "harrumphed," but Gimshe cracked a smile.

"Lead on, my pointy-eared prince."

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"How much further to this forest?" Boromir enquired as he and Aragorn trudged along at the rear of the Company.

"Lothlórien is perhaps another few hard hour's march away," the Ranger answered without turning from his focus on the ground ahead. "If we are lucky, we'll reach it before nightfall."

The rain had finally lessened its fury. All that remained now was a steady, dull drizzle, and the thick mud which sucked at their boots. The storm was beginning to break apart, and the sun peaked through the clouds, showing off an extraordinary (if mostly ignored) sunset.

Boromir glanced doubtfully at the swiftly setting sun. "I should hope we would not have to spend another night out in the open."

Aragorn smiled, his eyes somewhat wistful. "I greatly desire to see Lothlórien again. There we will be safe, and may lay down our arms, if but for a little while."

"And then we must race off again, to find Legolas and the others," the Gondorian man said, not unhappily. "Such a strange race this is turning out to be. The others are running from the Enemy, and now they also run from us."

"It may be better than we suppose." Gandalf had dropped back, overhearing some of the conversation. "It is my hope that with the majority of us here, and with Aragorn and myself (two of the most noticeable members of our group), the Enemy will overlook a small party of two elves and a ranger."

"Is It safe?" Boromir wondered out loud, softly. He spoke of the One Ring.

"It is never completely safe," Aragorn said, quietly. "Evil will always be drawn to It."

"It is never safe with any person, with any living creature," Gandalf agreed with a sigh. "Our hope is that those who travel with the Bearer will aid him not only in resisting the Enemy, but in resisting the Ring's call. Friendship is powerful."

"Yet, not infallible," said Boromir.

"Nothing, my friend, is infallible," said the Wizard.

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Every step was painful, and slow. Sealbeth walked silently alongside the wearied Legolas, offering silent support. Never before had bearing the Ring been so painful—or had he merely forgotten it's weight, during his short stay in Lothlórien?—or so difficult. It felt as though a lead brick hung around his neck, not a small golden ring.

"Such a little thing," he mumbled.

Were there voices in his head, or was he merely going mad? _Mithrandir had mentioned something about going mad, I am sure of it. Something about the Ring's call, and evil, and wanting to return to its master._

_Its master Sauron, who was originally only a minion of a greater Dark Lord, Morgoth, who'd been defeated by the Valor long ago…_

_Or so said the histories of Lord Elrond. Not that I doubt Lord Elrond, for Lord Elrond is wise even among we elves, who are known for our wisdom…_

"My lord?"

_Such a little thing, that we spend so much pain and suffering concerned over. If only it had remained in the Anduin. If only it had never come to me…_

"Legolas, we cannot stop."

_It should return there, shouldn't it? From the fire, to the water. It is the natural order of all things, is it not? Hot always cools. Cold rarely warms by itself. So should not the ring, cast in fire, return to water?_

"Legolas, look at me."

"I am fine, Endara," Legolas muttered, pushing Sealbeth away. "Stop it, I'm fine."

Sealbeth held the pale, shaking prince in his arms. "You are not, my lord. You must stop. Stop listening to it. Hear my voice. _Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna miriel…_"

Suddenly, Legolas was alone in his mind. He sat up gasping for air, then saw Sealbeth's face.

"Sealbeth?" he asked uncertainly.

"You are all right, my lord," Sealbeth said, choosing his words carefully. "Can you stand?"

"What? Yes, yes of course." The prince stood smoothly, as though nothing was wrong with him.

_His color is weak_, Sealbeth thought as he carefully studied the elven prince. _He's beginning to fade. The Ring is wearing him down_.

Legolas managed a smile, and patted his friend's arm. "Thank you, Sealbeth, I am all right now."

_For now_, thought the other elf. _If the time comes when you fail in your task, Legolas, the burden of the Ring must pass on to someone else, another Ring Bearer to carry It to the fires of Mordor._

_Me._

_**- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**_

As the Company entered Lothlórien, Boromir found that a strange tingle ran down his spine. He noticed an odd look on the faces of the other Fellowship members, but not all of them looked as disturbed as he felt. In fact, Endara and Gandalf looked positively pleased, for the first time in many days. The golden wood was not dense and thick at the base, as were the forests Boromir was familiar with. There was little brush, and the ground was blanketed with a thick covering of moss green, and grass. The air seemed warmer under the trees, bringing some relief from the icy rain the Fellowship had braved the past week. As the light continued to fade, healthy woodland sounds because to calm those who had the ears to listen: Endara, Aragorn, and Gandalf instinctively relaxed, knowing that the forest creatures would alert them to any trouble long before elven eyes or Ranger senses could.

"They say an elf-witch lives in this wood," Gimshe said, with considerable nervousness as he gripped his axe firmly.

"Galadriel is no witch, and you'd be wise not to say such things in her wood," Gandalf said sharply. "She is an elf, to be sure, and old even by my reckoning. She is powerful even among the Eldar, a force to be reckoned with. A force," he added at the stubborn dwarf's expression, "of good."

Gimshe snorted. "I have no fear of her, elf-witch or not. No elf-woman will take me off guard."

"No? What of an elf-man?" The coolly sarcastic voice apparated by Gimshe's ear, making the dwarf swear as he turned.

"Haldir o Lórien," said Gandalf, ignoring the twenty-odd arrowheads pointed more-or-less in their direction. "Mae govannen."

Haldir's level eyes had an edge to them. "There is no time for pleasantries," he said in the Common Tongue. "You must meet with the Lady immediately, and leave from this place swiftly. We are at war, and have little time to entertain guests."

"War? Haldir, please explain!" Aragorn stepped towards the Sylvan elf, but stopped at the bleak expression on his ageless face.

Haldir's eyes turned on Aragorn, and were full of such despair that it took the breath from Boromir's lungs. He knew such desperation. He'd felt it, tasted it, been there when it claimed a group of men, when it clawed at his own heart. In the eyes of an elf, a creature so distantly removed from his own human frame of mind that it seemed to him nigh on impossible to be truth; Boromir found himself staring down the face of imminent destruction. And there stood Death, staring back at him, and he shivered despite the forest's warmth.

"Saruman has come for the One Ring, which passed through our borders not long ago," said the elf. "By the skill of her art, the Lady Galadriel obscured from the Dark Lord where the Bearer and his friend have escaped. Now he sends Saruman to attack us in retaliation." The elf paused, obviously struggling with his words.

"Gwannuvalmet," he finished simply. We are going to die.

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Sindarin. Literally, "die will we." From the verb "Gwanna, to die", and the conjugation of "uva," future tense, and "lmet," the pronoun "we."

Hum de dum…more reviews means more chapters…more chapters means more fun…comments, anyone? This is a long chapter by my standards…hope you enjoyed the added length.


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